


the other side of paradise

by peachbombs



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:57:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachbombs/pseuds/peachbombs
Summary: The first and only time Isak Valtersen says those three words, it’s to Even Bech Næsheim, a boy who broke his heart once and now, here Isak is, giving him every liberty to do it again.





	1. he woke me up again

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a fluffy little piece of them reuniting in uni, but that got away from me, so here's this. more about their backstory will become clear in upcoming chapters. probably took some liberties with the way norwegian university life goes, but let me know if there's anything glaringly off :)

**_NÅ_ **

**December 3, 2018**

The first and only time Isak Valtersen says those three words, he’s drunk, bordering on hammered. Streetlights blurring, feet stumbling, words slurring.

He doesn’t quite know how many cans of Tuborg he’s had. Really, losing count of the beers he’s thrown back should’ve been his signal to head back to his university apartment, maybe split a joint with Jonas to stave off the impending hangover, and call it a night.

But those options—no, a routine he relied on once upon a time—aren’t appealing anymore. Not when Isak’s got an arm snaked around his waist to keep him from falling on his ass, the best laugh he’s possibly ever heard in his 19 years ringing in his ears, and the kindest, nicest, most attractive person with the bluest eyes holding a bottle of water to his lips.

It should be annoying and embarrassing that Isak’s letting himself be babied like this. He’s 19 and in his second year of university; he’s got a leg up on first-year, 18-year-old Isak, who was filled to the brim with insecurities. And sure, he’s not exactly the definition of self-assured or anything, but he’s a lot closer to it than he used to be.

“Well, that’s good.”

Wry words that would be condescending if it didn’t accompany a genuine smile, one that he wants to wake up to on lazy Sunday mornings and kiss and kiss and kiss.

Isak presses his lips together, hopes he didn’t say that part aloud. He’s not really sure how much he’s said at this point, but he wants to hope there’s only been one slip-up.

“—so, you’ll be OK?”

It takes Isak a moment to realize that his racing thoughts drowned out most of what Even was saying. Ironic, considering he’d otherwise cling to anything Even had to say with rapt attention, even if he were to start gushing about the Kardashians.

“Isak?” Even nudges him a little.

He doesn’t mean to say it. Tries his hardest to put a leash on his words.

“I love you.”

The first and only time Isak Valtersen says those three words, it’s to Even Bech Næsheim, a boy who broke his heart once and now, here Isak is, giving him every liberty to do it again.

* * *

**_REWIND: THREE MONTHS_ **

**September 4, 2018**

ONSDAG | 12:01

 Isak crosses his arms across his chest and tries not to glower at Jonas. His success rate is seemingly low because his phone buzzes a second later.

> **Jonas Vasquez**
> 
> Smil a

In response, Isak rolls his eyes and pulls his snapback lower as more people file in.

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Ugh
> 
> :)

He wishes he had an explanation for why he committed to giving up his lunch hour every Wednesday for the remainder of the academic term.

OK, so maybe he’s playing it fast and loose with the word “committed,” and his explanation is standing at the front of the room in the form of his best friend, who bribed him with the promise of weed and a free McDonald’s meal every Wednesday as long as Isak attended these university newspaper meetings.

Jonas looks around, seemingly satisfied with the turnout, and clasps his hands together.

“Hey, everyone, thanks for being here at The Society Register’s first meeting of the academic year,” he says. “I’m Jonas Noah Vasquez, second year here, majoring in political science and journalism with a minor in philosophy.”

Isak starts to tune Jonas out as he outlines his goals for the school paper he revived from “the depths of administrative neglect, apathy, and at the root of it all, a gross, autocratic attempt at suppressing press freedom.” Isak’s only heard Jonas rant about it for the entirety of their first year; the words haunt him in his sleep sometimes.

As discreetly as he can, Isak plays Dragon Hill 2 on his phone and tries not to feel too guilty about not paying attention to what Jonas is saying. His consolation is that he’s just a number in the room for the sake of maintaining a quorum that the administration required of Jonas when he had proposed reviving The Society Register. Why Magnus and Mahdi didn’t get roped into attending these meetings is beyond him, but definitely something Isak is going to bug Jonas about as soon as the meeting’s over.

To Jonas’ credit, he managed to amass people as thrilled about the newspaper’s revival as he is. After a few moments, Isak hears people pitching story ideas and volunteering for ones that Jonas already has up on the board.

When the excited energy in the room fizzles, Isak looks up only to find Jonas and a few others looking directly at him.

“Hmm?” he says, feeling dumb the moment the sound escapes his mouth.

“You’ll cover this, yeah?” Jonas asks, pointing at something he’s written on the board with a pleading look.

Isak glares, but he has more class than throwing a hissy fit in front of a room full of strangers, so he gives a noncommittal shrug that he hopes Jonas will realize actually means, “You’ve made me rethink my stance on murder and I’m going to kill you as soon as this stupid meeting’s over.”

But Jonas just looks pleased.

“OK, so that settles it. Thanks for being here, everyone. Stories are due Tuesday to me by 20:00, and I’ll see you all back here next week.”

Isak waits while Jonas stays behind to chat with the few who approach him with questions, and finally, squints at the board.

 _Feature on winner of the national Emerging Photographer Prize -_ **Isak**

Never mind the fact that Isak didn’t even know the first thing about writing a feature, he was going to be stuck interviewing some pretentious artist. He suppresses the urge to groan.

**September 5, 2018**

 TORSDAG | 19:05

 Isak tried. He tried his damndest to convince Jonas he wasn’t the right person to cover the photographer story, and he thought he had some solid selling points.

  1. He didn’t know the first thing about art or photography or anything in that vein.
  2. He didn’t know the first thing about _journalism_ and writing for a newspaper.
  3. Did Jonas forget that the only reason Isak had even agreed to attend those meetings was out of the pure kindness of his heart?
  4. The promise of beers on Isak every weekend as long as he didn’t have to cover this stupid thing or any other stupid thing ever again.



The only drawback was that Jonas was more than capable of coming up with strong rebuttals.

  1. Isak didn’t need to know anything about art. His only job was to talk to the artist, who would, in turn, help him understand.  
  2. “Here are a list of questions for you to ask. I’ll take care of the rest.”
  3. Isak knew, as well as Jonas did, that he had only agreed to attend the meetings for free, weekly McDonald’s and unlimited weed courtesy of Jonas.
  4. Isak could barely afford to buy his own beers, let alone promise Jonas his own supply.



In short, it wasn’t always easy to win arguments with Jonas, and that was how Isak found himself in a wrinkled gray button-down that had been buried deep in the abyss of his closet and a pair of dark jeans that Jonas deemed acceptable enough to wear to the opening night of a photography show.

Isak is singlehandedly the most underdressed person in the room. Everyone around him flits about from picture to picture in smart trousers and blazers and dresses.

To ease some of his anxieties about feeling so damn out of place, Isak accepts a glass of wine from a waiter, even though he isn’t entirely sure about the ethics of drinking while he’s supposedly in the midst of covering a story. Only, fuck that and fuck Jonas because if it weren’t for him, Isak could’ve been in his bed, watching Narcos, and drinking a lot more than a single glass of wine.

After a few minutes, Isak manages to sidle up to one of the photos. He knows it’s a self-portrait because the picture’s aptly titled as much and it’s all Isak can do not to snort. It’s not bad, per se, but Isak can’t really share the fascination of the others around him. Isak takes down some notes on his phone, because he doesn’t care what Jonas says, OK, he’s _not_ going to be the dork with a pen and a notepad, and he’s going to take his chances and trust that technology won't fail him. 

  * The “self-portrait” uses a combination of media
  * Photograph of a chin and collarbone +  some kind of leaf (???) + other textured stuff + some other shit + I don’t fucking know, Jonas



“Enjoying the show?”

Isak glances up, his eyes meeting familiar blue ones that could very well make any person forget their own name.

When Isak doesn’t respond, Even, fucking Even Bech Næsheim, continues like they’re two pals catching up after a brief intermission. “Seems like you are.” He gestures toward the phone is Isak’s hand.

If Even didn't look so goddamn amused and endearing, like everything Isak remembers, Isak would’ve felt indignant. As it is, he only feels a mild pang of embarrassment and something else that he wants to postpone putting a name on.

“Just taking notes,” he mumbles with a cough, pressing the lock button on his phone; the quality of his notes are nothing to brag about and no one needs to see it, least of all Even.  

“Extra credit for Johansen?” Even guesses and Isak looks at him properly. How he’s carrying on a flippant conversation while Isak’s head is swimming with questions, Isak doesn’t know. But he’s so displaced from his element that he doesn’t know what to do other than play along, so he shakes his head.

The name Johansen means nothing to him.

“Just as well, I wouldn’t recommend Johansen to my worst enemy,” Even says cheerfully before gesturing toward the self-portrait. “Surprised I graduated despite having him, honestly. So, what do your notes say about this?”

And really, someone who probably knows an informed thing or two about art asking his opinion on it isn’t his worst nightmare or anything, but it is when it’s fucking _Even._ Even, who’s grown into his long, flailing limbs, and looks like something straight out of a runway, even when he’s in a hoodie and a denim jacket, easily beating Isak out for most underdressed. Yet, he carries himself with the swagger of someone so poised that he could probably wear sweatpants and a T-shirt to the Met Gala and look like a goddamn dream. Even, who apparently graduated, and was living a life Isak knew nothing about.

After a beat: “Great insight.” Even laughs, commenting on Isak’s silence, and it really should piss him off, but there’s no malice in the sound and it’s so _Even_ that it just stings.

“I don’t really get it,” Isak says, figuring there’s no point in bullshitting around the truth. “Do you know where I can find the photographer?”

Even looks little taken aback, but he quickly recovers. “What don’t you get?” he asks, ignoring Isak’s question.

Isak runs a hand through his hair and glares a little at the self-portrait. “I don’t know. The point of it, I guess. Not just this.” He waves in the general direction of the portrait in front of him. “But self-portraits in general. Like, it’s self-serving. What does it add to this world that’s basically toppling over like a Jenga tower? Not much.”

When Isak looks over, Even looks thoughtful. “So, you look at this and you feel nothing?”

Isak shrugs. “Art’s subjective, isn’t it?”

“What do you do now?”

“I go here,” Isak answers. 

“Sociology major, theatre major, math major?”

“Microbiology,” Isak says. Then, because he can’t hold it in anymore: “What are you doing here?”

“How does what you’re doing add to the world?” Even asks, ignoring his question again.

Isak raises his eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

Even smirks. “Humor me.”

“You know some of the most important discoveries essential to maintaining a healthy population have been by microbiologists, don’t you?” The conversation’s  enough to deter Isak from circling back to his unanswered question. For now, anyway.

“Sure, that’s great for Fleming and penicillin and all, but what are _you_ doing that’s somehow keeping the world from toppling over?”

Isak flounders for a moment. “I—what—that’s not what I meant. You asked for my opinion, I told you,” he reminds. “I’m not saying everyone’s going to look at this and feel nothing.”

“But you also said it adds no value to the world,” Even points out.  

Isak sighs and concedes. “I'm sure some people will see the value in it.” Sparring with Even, who he hasn’t seen in nearly five years, about a self-portrait just leaves him feeling irked and on edge. He briefly wonders how Jonas has civil debates with people about matters of global significance. The extent of the civil debates Isak has are with Sana, but it’s restricted to scientific topics, their strongest suits. “Look, I’m covering this thing for the newspaper. Do you know the photographer, or where I can find them at least?”

Even grins, bright and wide, like he knows exactly the kind of effect his smile had on Isak once and continues to have still. “So, you’re the enemy.” Once again, he dodges Isak’s question.

“Huh?”

Even cocks an eyebrow. “Almost Famous?”

“What?”

“Penny Lane, Stillwater, Cameron Crowe?”

“I’m honestly not any closer to figuring out what the fuck you’re talking about than I was two seconds ago,” Isak says, exasperated.

Even laughs. “Guess you don’t remember.” For a brief moment, Even looks sad, but before Isak can ask what he’s talking about or even deliberate over why Even would seem sad, Even starts retreating from him. “See you around, Isak.”

Isak stares at Even, at his back as he walks away, and tries to ignore the bitterness creeping up. Of course he’s watching Even walk away again; when has that not been the case?

He sighs and turns back to the self-portrait. He can’t believe how much time he’s spent in front of this fucking portrait and he feels angry at it all of a sudden. Angry because he had probably sounded like an idiot incapable of understanding art in front of Even, who had probably felt everything and the world when he looked at it. Even probably even understood the intricacies of what the artist was trying to say and could connect it to something of actual social significance because that’s kind of person Isak imagined Even grew up to be.

Sighing, he takes down a few more notes on his phone about the portrait before glancing at the artist’s name underneath the caption.

_Even Bech Næsheim._

He whips his head around, and there Even is, gesturing to a photo and talking animatedly to a group of people who are clinging to his every word like they’re enamored. Or maybe Isak’s projecting because he knows firsthand what it’s like to be enamored by Even Bech Næsheim.

Even smiles while those around him applaud and in the midst of sharing his gratitude, Even finds Isak’s gaze and holds it. It’s brief, but it upends every nerve in Isak’s body and he feels like he’s flooded with something he spent years burying. He doesn’t even stop to think, just lets his feet carry him out, away from Even, The Society Register and the article be damned.


	2. the oracle said wander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so this chapter contains mentions of sara/isak and sonja/even and warning for reference to a homosexual slur and some internalized homophobia 
> 
> fluffy bits coming soon :)

**FIVE YEARS AGO (Isak, 14 | Even, 16)**

**June 20, 2013**

_It’s All Happening_

FREDAG | 21:00 

Feel Flows by the Beach Boys played in the background, and Isak swallowed the lump in his throat.

“What did you think?” Even asked.

Isak looked at Even then, like he hadn’t been sneaking glances all night. What did he think? Well, a lot, but none of it had anything to do with the movie. A lot of it had to do with the boy who lived across the street from Isak and reserved Friday nights to watch movies with him. He could barely remember what the movie was even about, though. He knew he had chuckled, but the sound had felt weak to his own ears. Thank fuck Even had been too engrossed in the movie to notice that all Isak could focus on was the fact that their knees had been touching for nearly three hours. What would Even say if he found out that that had been enough to overwhelm him? What did it even mean?

Even chuckled. “That good, huh?”

“Hmm?” Isak snapped out of his borderline existential reverie to look at Even.

“You liked Almost Famous that much? You’re fucking speechless right now, I can’t believe it. But it’s good. I love it. Makes me wanna do something like that with my life, you know. Something impressive, something I love, even if I’m shit at it or people don’t believe in me or give me a hard time. I just wanna do it.”

Isak bit his lip. He wanted to say that he was sure Even would because Even could do anything. For the two years Isak had known him, ever since he’d spent a night in Even’s room after his mamma had her first bad episode, Isak had thought the world of Even. He'd gotten to know a lot about Even and he wanted to know more; he wanted to know everything. But he just nodded. “Yeah.”

Even’s cheerful demeanor changed then, shifting to concern when he nudged Isak’s shoulder with his own and Isak flinched. God, he wished Even would stop touching him this casually. But Even was probably the most tactile person Isak knew, and it wasn’t like he had a _problem_ with Even touching him. It was that he liked it. Maybe a little too much. More than he was supposed to.

“Isak, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, fuck, I’m just—it’s just so fucking hot in your room,” Isak said, tugging at his hoodie as an excuse to scoot away from Even. The loss of touching Even pricked his skin. He hoped he was just coming down with a fever or something.

“Maybe the beer.”

It wasn’t, but Isak nodded.

Before he could process what was happening, Even’s hands were on the hem of his hoodie.

“The fuck are you doing?” Isak swatted Even’s hands away.

“Take off your hoodie, dumbass.”

“I’m fine.”

“Isak.”

“What?”

“Come on, don’t be a brat, just take off your hoodie.”

Isak groaned, but removed his hoodie and chucked it at Even’s head. “Not a brat.”

Even laughed and threw the hoodie back at him. “Yeah, right, you should see your face right now.” He poked at the corners of Isak’s downturned mouth for emphasis, but it was all Isak could do not to combust right then and there. His mamma’s words rang in his ears; being attracted to anyone other than a girl was a sin. He was going to burn in hell for these thoughts he harbored about Even. Even would think it was gross, too; he had a girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. Technically, Isak supposed he did, too, but it wasn’t the same. He functioned as Sara’s mute therapist more than her boyfriend.

“Stop doing that,” Isak finally muttered, swatting Even’s hands away again.

But Even grinned and poked with more purpose, his thumb brushing Isak’s chin slightly. Isak’s heart threatened to burst; if Even moved his finger just a little toward the left, he’d be touching Isak’s lips. And fuck if Isak didn’t want that. Fuck if Isak didn’t want a lot of things with Even.

“You say that, but you don’t seem to mean it,” Even replied, moving his finger to touch Isak’s cheek lightly. “See, you already don’t look as grumpy as you did five seconds ago. Telling you, I have a superpower.”

Isak snorted. “What, curing me of grumpiness? That’s lame.”

“Making you smile,” Even corrected. “Curing your grumpiness, too, sure, because what kind of a citizen would I be if I let that out into the world when I have the power to stop it?”

Isak shoved his shoulder. “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Still, you love me.”

Maybe. But that was a terrifying thought, so Isak shook his head. “Love Sara.”

Even narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Have you two—”

“What, kissed?”

“Had sex,” Even finished, looking confused for a moment before realization dawned on him. “Wait, you haven’t kissed her yet?”

Fuck.

“What? No, of course I have.”

For a moment, Even didn’t say anything and Isak chanced a glance at him. “Holy fuck, you’re such a bad liar, Isak.”

“Fuck you, I’m not lying,” Isak said. “I have kissed her.”

“Oh, yeah?” Even raised an eyebrow challengingly. “What was it like?”

Fucking Even. Who asked stuff like that? But Isak wasn’t about to back down. “You know, nice. And, uh, wet. Like, spit and lips and tongue and stuff. Regular, nice, old-fashioned kissing.”

Even was practically shaking with suppressed laughter, though, and Isak knew he had lost. “Fuck you.”

Even laughed openly then and Isak rolled his eyes, but he could feel the tips of his ears burning with shame. He really should’ve kissed Sara by now. It wasn’t for lack of trying—on Sara’s end. Isak had managed to dodge every attempt and that was starting to get embarrassing. She didn’t always get his cheek; there had been one awkward time when he hadn’t turned his head fast enough and she kissed his nostril. Fuck him and his life, honestly.

“Whatever, I’m kissing her tonight,” Isak said with a confidence he didn’t really have.

Even stopped laughing. “You’re not kissing her tonight.”

“The fuck? Yes, I am.”

“Isak, it’s 21:21 and you’re here with me. If you were going to kiss Sara tonight, you’d be with her right now. Why haven’t you kissed her yet?” Even sounded curious, like he actually wanted to know why Isak hadn’t kissed Sara, unlike Elias, whose questions had just been a prelude to a taunt about Isak being “a fucking queer.”

Isak shrugged, looking at his sock-clad feet. “Dunno. Could be bad at it.” It was easier than saying that he really didn’t want to have his first kiss with Sara, or any other girl he knew, for that matter.

“You’re afraid to kiss her because you think you might be bad at it?”

“Fuck off, I’m not afraid.”

“OK, what then?”

“Nothing, just—it just hasn’t happened yet, OK? Piss off.”

Even didn’t say anything for a moment, and Isak wondered if he had maybe offended him. But when he met Even’s gaze, his cheeks were flushed and he looked almost embarrassed.

“What now?” Isak asked, an edge to his voice.

“You could practice,” Even said after a moment, his voice quiet.

“I’m not practicing with the back of my hand; I’m not that desperate, Even.”

“I didn’t say the back of your hand.” Even sounded serious, but Isak still felt confused until Even’s face was so close that Isak could feel his breath on his cheek.

“Oh.”

“Yeah?” Even sounded scared.

Isak’s breath stuttered. “Yeah.”

It was brief. Just a brush of Even’s lips against Isak’s. And Isak wanted more, a lot more, but he was satisfied with just that, too. When his eyes were closed in that moment, he knew what it was like to see the stars and feel numb to everything but Even’s lips. But when they pulled back and Even’s eyes found his, Isak felt like he had found the universe, right there, on Even’s bunk bed, with his TV illuminating both their faces.

* * *

**_REWIND: THREE MONTHS_ **

**September 5, 2018**

FREDAG | 12:14

“But, like, how do I know she’s not faking her orgasm? Like, Vilde said she came, you know, but how do I know for sure?” Magnus says around a mouthful of spaghetti.

“Seeing as she’s having sex with you, she’s definitely faking her orgasm,” Mahdi retorts and Isak laughs before catching Jonas’ eye and nodding in greeting.

“The fuck happened, bro?” Jonas asks, setting his lunch tray down on the table.

Isak shrugs, confused. “What?”

“I thought you were gonna interview the photographer last night.”

Isak has prepared for this moment. He knew it was coming; he just didn’t anticipate it would be this soon. But before he can get a word in edgewise, Jonas keeps talking. “Yeah, and then Even emailed me and said he would prefer it if we didn’t do a profile on him.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, what did you do? Did you sit on the art or something?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “No, I didn’t sit on the fucking art, Jonas.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing,” Isak says defensively. “I don’t fucking know. Ask him. He’s the one asking not to be interviewed.” Which is just as well, Isak thinks. At least last night was the last he would see of Even. Out of sight, out of mind, as the adage goes.

“First issue and the Register’s the only paper without a feature on Even Bech Næsheim. Unbelievable. You know even the Echo’s got the interview? Yeah, it’s up on their site right now.”

Isak resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Who cares? He’s just some photographer. We’ve got a lot of other good stories, right?” It’s a shot in the dark because he doesn’t actually know what stories they’ve got, but Jonas relaxes a little.

“Talk to him. I’ll send you his email. At least find out why he doesn’t want to be interviewed by us.”

Isak has a vague idea why, but he acquiesces. Lunch is smooth sailing from there. Jonas joins Mahdi in poking fun at Magnus, while Isak picks at his lunch. So much for out of sight, out of mind. All he can think about is fucking Even. What is he, 14 again? For fuck’s sake.

**September 6, 2018**

FREDAG | 15:25

Isak’s downed a beer already. Maybe that’s what it makes it easy for him to look at the email address Jonas sent him.

 

> **Jonas Vasquez**
> 
> ebnæsheim@gmail.com 
> 
> You can do it bro

Isak opens up his email and drafts a new message. A part of him is itching to text Even, just to see if his number’s still the same, to see if Even recognizes _his_ number. But he decides against it. Even probably doesn't have his number, anyway. 

 

> **Til** : Even Bech Næsheim  < ebnæsheim@gmail.com >
> 
> **Sendt:** fredag 4. September 2018 15.36
> 
> **Fra:** Isak Valtersen  < ivaltersen@uio.edu >
> 
> **Emne:** Re: Interview
> 
> Hei Even,
> 
> Jonas said you weren’t keen on doing the interview. I was hoping you would reconsider.
> 
> This story means a lot to him.
> 
> Takk,
> 
> Isak

All things considered, it’s good, Isak thinks. Detached, formal, good. If only his body got the memo. He stands up from his desk, a rush of nervous energy running through his body. It’s embarrassing that Even has this effect on him even over fucking email. So, Isak sits back down, but he opens another can of beer just to soothe his nerves a little. He can’t check his email now. Even definitely hasn’t replied. It’s Friday. He’s probably out on a date. And that’s fine. Isak could have had a date, too, if he hadn’t promised to pregame with the boys. And pregaming with the boys is something he takes very seriously, OK, he’s not about to ditch them for some stupid Grindr date.

On an impulse, Isak checks his email. He just wants to see if Professor Hagen has sent any clarifications about the lab assignment him and Sana are working on, that’s all. He doesn’t care if Even’s replied, he doesn’t—

 

> **Til** : Isak Valtersen  < ivaltersen@uio.edu >
> 
> **Sendt:** fredag 4. September 2018 15.38
> 
> **Fra:** Even Bech Næsheim  < ebnæsheim@gmail.com >
> 
> **Emne:** Re: Interview
> 
> Still have the same number?
> 
> -Even

15:38. It’s 15:50. Isak considers texting him first, but replies to the email. For the sake of being professional. For Jonas.

 

>   **Til** : Even Bech Næsheim  < ebnæsheim@gmail.com >
> 
> **Sendt:** fredag 4. September 2018 15.36
> 
> **Fra:** Isak Valtersen  < ivaltersen@uio.edu >
> 
> **Emne:** Re: Interview
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Isak

His phone buzzes almost immediately, but he feels a pang of disappointment.

 

> **Mahdi Disi**
> 
> Kebab?
> 
> **Jonas Vasquez**
> 
> Si
> 
> **Mags Fossbakken**
> 
> Hell yee

It’s stupid to feel disappointed. It really is. Isak replies to the boys’ group chat, then rummages through his desk to find his wallet. His phone buzzes again and he reaches for it, prepared to tell the boys he’ll meet them in 10, but stops short.

 

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Halla

Isak considers what to text back for a few seconds, then feels like an idiot. He’s not going to let Even have this effect on him. They’re talking for purely professional reasons. That’s all.

 

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Halla
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> So… you’re supposed to convince me of something?
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Huh?
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> The interview?
> 
> You don’t have a spiel ready for why you need this story?
> 
> Shame, Isak
> 
> What kind of a reporter are you

Isak can’t believe it. Not much has changed about Even. Not the way he texts, not the way he banters, nothing.

 

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> I’m not
> 
> Just a dumb favor for a friend
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> That’s what I am?
> 
> A dumb favor?
> 
> Ouch
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Shut up
> 
> Will you do it? The interview?
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Will you write that my work adds no value to the world?
> 
> Not telling you what to write, of course
> 
> Just wanna know so there aren’t any surprises
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Nah  
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> No?
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Supposed to be objective and all
> 
> In news stories
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Mm
> 
> Free tonight?
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> You wanna do the interview tonight?
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Not exactly
> 
> Thought it might be nice to catch up
> 
> Now that you can provide your own drinks and I’m not corrupting you with illicit beers :)
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Ha
> 
> Can’t tonight
> 
> Got a thing with my friends

Isak feels disappointed again. Foolish, stupid, idiotic, considering he brought it on to himself, but it's better in the long run. Definitely. 

 

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Just let me know when you’re free to do the interview
> 
> I can text/email you the questions too if that’s chill

Even doesn’t reply until after Isak’s grabbed kebab with the boys. He engages himself in conversation to avoid the impulse to check his phone every few seconds. When Isak gets back to his room and grabs the few beers he has left as his contribution for the pregame, his phone buzzes.

 

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Sure
> 
> Email’s chill


	3. the owl and the tanager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff feat. some shotgunning, teen boys being cute, the balloon squad + sana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because of alternating timelines, i've edited the last two chapters to include dates and years 
> 
> makes it a little easier to keep track and follow along?? i hope so
> 
> basically, september 2018+ is the present, december 2018 is when isak drunkenly says i love you, and everything else is the past

**September 10, 2018**

TIRSDAG | 19:28 

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Sorry for the delay
> 
> Just emailed you my responses

For the entirety of the weekend, Isak waged a mental war with himself: to feel like a dick or not to feel like a dick. The debate had weighed on his mind so much that he had considered texting Eskild for “guru advice,” but he wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear. (Not to mention, it would've meant rehashing his past with Even and that was just fucking pointless.)

On the one hand, he could’ve met up with Even for the interview and ripped the bandaid off. On the other hand, Isak had acted on an impulse of self-preservation and if that isn’t the smartest choice he’s made concerning Even, he didn’t know what was. 

> **Jonas Vasquez | 19:45**
> 
> Photography piece???

For the umpteenth time, he wonders how the fuck he got roped into _writing_ for the newspaper. Being a number at the meetings and giving up his lunch hour is one thing, but no amount of weed or McDonald’s is worth all the _work_ he's starting to do, he thinks. Nonetheless, he copies and pastes the answers Even sent him onto a Word doc and reformats it into a semi-decent Q &A. Jonas can take care of the rest.

He lets Jonas know he’s emailed him the interview piece before opening up Even’s messages. That feels like a dream in itself, honestly. If someone told him he’d be texting Even again a few months ago, Isak would’ve probably laughed, then punched them in the face because he hasn’t done anything that terrible in his life to have the promise of a future interaction with Even dangled in his face.

Only, this sure as hell isn’t what he thought interacting with Even again would be like.

For one, no part of it involved Isak being a part of the fucking school newspaper. He’s a microbiologist, for fuck’s sake. He’s pretty sure Jonas is going to give him a lesson on the proper use of commas as soon as he gets home.

And for another, well, Isak’s not sure.

He expected a confrontation. One that would end in some kind of resolution, be it reconciliation or parting ways for good.

It’s almost midnight when he types a response to Even’s text. It doesn’t need a response, but Isak gives in because this feels like a form of resolution, even if it’s not the one he held out hope for. It feels like an ending.

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Thanks, Even

* * *

**September 13, 2018**

FREDAG | 16:02 

Isak loves being at Sana’s house. He’ll probably never tell her this, but he suspects she knows. Every time she gets a chance to take a break from university housing and go back home, she invites him over to study, even though Isak has to take two buses and a tram to get there.

But the hour-long transit is worth basking in the merry din at Sana’s house, always accompanied by the kind of familial love that leaves him yearning for something he had when he was younger. It’s better now, his relationship with his mamma and pappa. Fractured, but better than it used to be when he first moved into the kollektiv after Eskild found him in that gay bar, drunk, alone, and fucking sad.

When Mrs. Bakkoush wraps up a few cardamom shortbread cookies for him to take back with him, Isak makes a mental note to bring some for his mamma during his next visit.

Loud music blares from somewhere in the house and Sana rolls her eyes, turning in the direction of the living room. “Elias, we’re trying to study, turn the music down.”

Judging by her exasperated tone, Isak figures that this isn’t the first time she’s yelled the same thing today.

“Hei Briskeby?” Isak guesses.

Sana rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint blush creeping up her cheeks, and Isak knows _exactly_ what that’s about.

“Holy shit, is he here?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. He can’t help it, OK? He’s not usually one to pry—everyone and their great-grandma knows there’s nothing he hates more—but he’s known for a while that Sana’s dating Yousef, and he’s never actually met the guy. He’s certain that the only reason some of his friends have met Yousef is because of some random happenstance. And it’s about damn time Isak met the guy who’s capable of turning Sana into goo. He says as much to her, but ends up being on the receiving end of a crumpled piece of paper directed at his head.

“I don’t turn into ‘goo,’” Sana says, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Now, focus because I’m not carrying your ass on my shoulders if you fall behind.”

Isak raises both his hands in a surrendering motion. They sit in the kitchen and work in silence for a good hour, while the boys continue filming in the background. It’s distracting, sure, but it’s the kind of commotion that puts Isak at ease. He’s used to the easy banter and roughhousing; it’s not all that different from hanging out with Magnus, Mahdi, and Jonas.

“Fuck, my brain’s dead,” Isak complains, tugging at his hair and closing his textbook.

Sana doesn’t even look up from her laptop. “Another hour,” she says sternly, but Isak’s already begun dicking around on his phone.

The boys’ chatter gets louder as they wander into the kitchen and Isak glances up, while Sana works on homework diligently. At this point, Isak’s sure it’s an act. He’s about to tease her when he feels dread and something akin to excitement (what the fuck) pool in his stomach because on Mutta’s tail is Even, looking relaxed and happy.

Isak can’t even properly enjoy the fact that Yousef quickly kisses Sana on the cheek, while Elias thumps his back indignantly and says, “The fuck did I tell you about being lovey dovey with my sister in front of me?”

Isak can’t tear his gaze away from Even. Even, who’s still talking animatedly with Mutta, and when he finally notices Isak staring, does a double-take so subtle that Isak’s left wondering if it even happened. Fuck Even and his cool, calm composure. Fuck it all.

It’s not until Sana gives his shin a sharp kick that he tears his gaze away from Even’s. “Ow, what the fuck?” And then he realizes Yousef’s grinning at him, a little confused but amused all the same.

“Hi, I’m Yousef,” he says, giving Isak a fist bump. “Sana says you’re her biology partner.”

Isak becomes aware that all the boys are attuned to this interaction, and he laughs a little awkwardly, hyper-focused on one person's gaze more than others'. “Yeah. Uh, she is.”

Sana gives him a quizzical look, probably because Isak sounds like a buffoon, but at least Yousef doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

“Cool.” Yousef grins and slings an arm around Sana’s shoulder.

Isak can’t really help the small smile that spreads across his face because Sana’s fucking glowing. As is Yousef. It would be a sickening sight if Isak wasn’t so happy for her, happy that Sana had found her person. Someone who loved and appreciated her as much as Yousef did. 

Instinctively, Isak's gaze searches for Even's. As if he feels Isak’s eyes on him, Even meets his eyes and Isak’s surprised to find the lack of hostility and coldness. He's not sure why he's surprised; Even was nice to him even when Isak had insulted his work to his face. Even's always _nice_ and that in itself can be frustrating. A moment later, Even gives him a small, genuine smile, nothing resembling the wide, cheerful grins that he’s prone to sporting around everyone. This one's private and Isak ducks his head, his face growing warm under Even's attention.

Maybe he's imagining it, maybe it's wishful thinking, but this feels like it could be some sort of beginning. Or at least, a stepping stone to a beginning. 

* * *

**FIVE YEARS AGO (Isak, 14 | Even, 16)**

**July 13, 2013**

MANDAG | 17:29

The summer of 2013 was fucking phenomenal. In some ways, anyway.

Isak had finally taken Elias up on his suggestion—he’d grown a pair, bitten the bullet, and kissed Sara.

With time, innocent kisses had progressed into horizontal makeout sessions on sofas and beds. Shirts had begun coming off. Sara’s hands had started maneuvering Isak’s to cup her breasts over padded, cotton bras. It didn’t do much for Isak, but he supposed it was better than listening to her bitch about Vilde and Eva and whoever the fuck else had gotten on her wrong side now. But that’s all his physical relationship with Sara was: a means to an end, a way to keep stupid rumors at bay.

The kiss with Even had been a one-off. After a week of awkwardness on Isak’s end, their friendship had resumed as usual. Movie nights, bike rides, playing video games, making dumb YouTube videos. Things were good.

Monday evening, Isak laid spread out on Even’s bed, his eyes transfixed on the ceiling. His mamma’s health had begun deteriorating again, which meant Isak used any excuse he had in his arsenal to get away. Even’s house always topped his list of getaway spots, but when Sonja was over, Isak made his peace with settling at Sara’s house for a few hours. Anything was better than staying at his house when his mamma’s screams bounced off the walls.

“Heard a rumor about you,” Even said after a few moments, lying down, his face upside down from Isak’s.

“Yeah?” The word sounded shaky. Isak felt his chest squeeze in panic. What the fuck had Elias said to Even?

“Yeah. Word on the grapevine is you’re a good kisser.”

Isak laughed, simultaneously surprised and relieved. “Piss off,” he muttered, turning to face Even and wishing he hadn’t when he got an eyeful of Even’s lips, which were right fucking there. His twin sized bed was both a curse and a blessing, really.

“Wanna try?” Even asked, holding up his joint.

Isak shrugged. He wasn’t going home tonight; what did it matter if he smelled like weed?

Even extended his arm to place the joint in between Isak’s lips and Isak exhaled, a thick, white puff of smoke leaving his mouth.

“Nuh-uh, go again. Gotta inhale. You want the smoke to come out almost translucent.”

So, Isak took another drag, holding the air in his lungs, and coughing when he exhaled. He sat up to cough properly, his eyes beginning to water.

“Beer, weed, first kiss, I’ve officially corrupted you, Isak Valtersen,” Even said, laughing and patting Isak’s back to help the cough subside.

Isak rolled his eyes and lay back down. “Probably would’ve done those things, anyway, with or without you.” He didn’t say he was glad he had shared it with Even.

Even made a noncommittal sound in response and for a few minutes, they passed the joint back and forth in silence.

“Who told you? That I was a good kisser?” Isak asked.

“Sonja. Sara talks.”

Isak snorted. He should’ve known. After a beat, because, for some unfathomable reason, he was feeling stupidly brave: “Do you?”

“Do I what?” Even asked and Isak felt Even’s hair tickling the side of his cheek when he turned to look at Isak.

“You know.” Isak made an aborted gesture with his hand. “The kissing thing.”

“Are you asking me if I think you’re a good kisser?” Even asked, sounding amused.

“No,” Isak responded, defiant. He was, he definitely was.

“You are.”

“Nope, I was just asking if you believed what Sara said.”

“Bullshit, you wanna know if _I_ think you’re a good kisser. Based on firsthand experience.”

Fuck Even for calling him out on his shit, Jesus; Isak couldn't seriously be that transparent.

“Admit it, you care what I think. About your kissing skills.” Even pretended to whisper the last four words.

“You’re full of shit.” Isak shoved Even’s face with his hand, but he felt Even’s laughter against his palm, and fuck if that didn’t do an indescribably funny thing to his stomach. Isak quickly dropped his hand; he really didn’t need an excuse to start mapping out Even’s mouth with his fingertips.

“Am not, you are.” Even nudged Isak’s chin with his hand until Isak turned his head. And then, Even was leaning in a little and blowing smoke directly into Isak’s mouth, their lips barely touching, but close enough that when Even spoke again, Isak felt his lips move against Isak's in tandem with his words. “I did.”

Isak was too far gone to understand the meaning of Even’s words. “Huh?”

“I thought you were a good kisser.” Even smiled and looked up at the ceiling. It wasn't the wide grin Isak was used to seeing on his face. It was small, like he was smiling to himself unconsciously, but then he turned and Isak knew he was being let into Even’s world. What that world contained, he wasn’t sure. But maybe he’d find out, one day or another, sooner or later. "Admit it," Even said, his voice quiet. 

"Hmm?" 

"Admit it." 

"I care," Isak damn near whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's probably going to be another update soon. i'm owing these speedy updates to the fact that i'm on break and thoroughly enjoying writing this :)


	4. futile devices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> includes mentions of sara+isak and sonja+even 
> 
> while no actual infidelity takes place, let's just say ~emotional infidelity~ is a pretty prominent in this chapter 
> 
> \+ isak is indeed out and proud in uni :)

**September 25, 2018**

FREDAG | 20:05 

It’s frustrating, really, how much he ends up thinking about Even when he’s doing all he can _not_ to think about him.

On his loneliest nights, when Narcos, a six-pack, and jerking off to porn that takes way too long to buffer isn’t sufficient, he turns to Grindr. Much like this Friday night. 

It’s easy, hell of a lot easier than actually committing to dating anyone from university. Certainly a better dating scene than high school, but no one holds his interest for longer than a night.

Something’s always off.

Not to mention the fact that the boys get way too excited when he starts seeing someone, even if it’s just mildly serious, and then mercilessly tease the shit out of him when he tells them why he decided to call it quits.

It’s not really Isak’s fault, OK? The last guy did have an unhealthy obsession with trees. And if Isak, someone who actually loved biology, couldn’t get on board with that, well, who could?

He exchanges messages on Grindr for at least an hour, scoping out promising candidates for the night, before abandoning his efforts in favor of pulling up his contacts.

Look, Isak wants to fuck (or be fucked; he’s not in a really picky mood right now), but he also wants to go to a bar and grab a beer or few. Not enough to get trashed or anything, just to temporarily dull the Even-shaped ache in his chest that’s persisted since the fucking art show. 

On a whim, he texts Julian Dahl and asks him to meet him at a bar within walking distance of both their apartments.

All in all, a safe bet. Drama-free, a good lay, doesn’t care that Isak refuses to cuddle after sex. Julian’s the man.

***

FREDAG | 21:46 

Well, Isak’s definitely not getting laid tonight, that much becomes evident within minutes of meeting up with Julian.

“Have you ever liked someone this much, Isak? Like, so much that it hurts. Because it fucking hurts. So, so much.”

Isak doesn’t know what Julian had to drink before meeting him, but it’s definitely not the pint in front of him that’s responsible. Even so, Isak glares at the glass like it is.

Julian shakes his shoulders a little. “He’s amazing. No, listen, you don’t understand, no one I’ve met even compares.”

“Uh-huh, that’s great,” Isak says, craning his neck to look around for other viable prospects. He’s in a bar, after all. But the only person who looks even remotely interested in him is a girl with a pixie cut. Pretty, but stopped being Isak’s type around 19 years ago. Definitely should’ve chosen a gay bar.

Julian continues waxing poetic about some guy and his eyes, but Isak stopped paying attention when he realized that even Julian had a person. Julian, his reliable, punctual, perfectly adequate  fuckbuddy. Isak’s just a little miffed.

“Yeah, what?” Isak turns his attention back to Julian when he realizes the guy’s shaking his shoulders.

“Do you know what it’s like?” Julian repeats, and Isak doesn’t even try to suppress it; he rolls his eyes. In his defense, Julian’s only asked him the same question 50 times in the span of five minutes.

“Yep, I do.” Maybe that’ll shut him up.

But Julian blinks. “Wait, really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“ _You_ know what it’s like? Really? You?”

Isak must looks as unimpressed as he feels because Julian shakes his head. “Sorry, no offense, but you’re just so—you know.”

It shouldn’t pique his curiosity, not when Julian is most likely talking out of his ass right now, but it grabs his attention still. “So what?”

“You know.”

Isak raises his eyebrows. He orders another drink. Something tells him he’s going to regret not having a full pint in his hands in the next few seconds.

“Tree guy,” Julian starts listing, and Isak knows where he’s going with this. “No cuddling after sex. All the, you know, rules. Which is cool and all, but just seems like you’re trying really damn hard to stay unhappy.” He shrugs then. “I don’t want that, though. Feel like I’ve been unhappy for a while. Fuck, it’s a fucking cliche, but I feel like meeting Geir changed my life, you know?”

Of fucking course it did.

Maybe this is Isak’s role in life, playing the attentive ear while everyone else around him makes strides with their lives. Everything he did today, everything he’s been doing for the past week, the past month—he’s been doing the same stuff since he was 16.

When the bartender cuts Julian off, Isak tries to tamp down on his annoyance. By some sort of extension, Isak supposes he and Julian are friends. And friends show each other the common courtesy of not being complete dickheads and deserting the other friend while hammered and lovesick.

By some miracle, Isak manages to get him outside. His dumb luck lasts for about two seconds when they’re outside. Julian stumbles and Isak feels himself being dragged down. He braces himself for a fall that doesn’t come, because now, there’s someone else holding Julian upright. Someone tall and blonde and vividly Even-shaped.

Before Isak can say anything, Julian leaves both their sides, practically throwing himself at someone else like a big, drunk baby.

“Fucking hell,” Isak mutters. “I’m sorry, he’s just really fucking drunk.” He tries to extract Julian from a man who just laughs and holds on to Julian fondly.

“It’s OK, he texted me. Told me to come here.”

Isak eyes the man warily because he was with Julian all night and he seriously doubts the guy had the dexterous capabilities to text a single coherent thing to anyone.

“I’m Geir,” the guy says, looking flustered, and that makes a little more sense. But Isak remains unsure until Julian plants a big kiss on Geir’s lips and well, that settles things.

“You’ll get him home safe?”

“I’ll get him home safe,” Geir promises, giving Isak a small smile and a wave goodbye.

Isak doesn’t know why, but he feels strangely empty as he watches Geir laugh at the kisses Julian’s unabashedly peppering all over his neck. They’re stumbling as they walk, both of them, but neither seem to care. He breathes in deeply for a moment before turning around, and really, he’s not sure what he was expecting, but it’s not Even, standing at the spot Isak and Julian had left him, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Even’s nose and cheeks are flushed pink from the cold and Isak really can’t hold his gaze as he walks over, so he focuses on his own feet instead.

He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to say. Hi? Thanks for helping? You didn’t have to?

Luckily, Even beats him to the punch. “Did he just ditch you for _that_ guy?”

Isak blinks. Out of all the things he might’ve expected Even to say, that’s certainly not one of them. “What? No, you asshole, we weren't on a date or anything.” And he can’t really help it. He laughs. Because, seriously, who just _asks_ stuff like that? Fucking Even.

Even gives him a tentative smile, like he can’t really believe Isak is laughing.

“Um, so—” they both start at the same time, and Jesus fucking Christ, this is awkward as shit.

Isak quickly motions for Even to say whatever he meant to, lest Even beat him to the same gesture, because honestly, he had no idea what the ending to his “Um, so,” would’ve been. It was a transparent excuse to keep Even there, standing with him in front of a raucous bar, underneath the streetlights.

Even smiles, but it’s self-deprecating, like he knows he’s setting himself up for disappointment. “No thing with your friends tonight?”

And Isak gets it.

“Nah.” He wonders if he comes off as casual as he aims to be. Doubtful. Even would see right through that shit, anyway.

Even shrugs, then starts walking. “Join me, then.”

Isak stares at him dumbfounded for a second before his feet catch up to his brain and he jogs a little to match Even’s pace. He wants to ask where Even’s taking them, but knowing Even, Isak doubts he’s going to get a straightforward answer.

* * *

 

**FIVE YEARS AGO (Isak, 14 | Even, 16)**

**July 25, 2013**

LØRDAG | 13:15 

It was a pleasant afternoon for riding bikes and eating clementines by the river. Granted, Isak would’ve enjoyed it a lot more if it had been just him and Even.

Sara hadn’t seemed particularly keen about the prospect of a bike riding double date with Sonja and Even, and she wasn’t making any effort to hide it. Frankly, she was grating on his nerves.

“I’m hungry, I’m taking a break,” she said, leaning her bike against the tree.

Isak shrugged. “OK,” he said, making no attempt to mimic her actions and keep her company. 

Maybe Sonja would offer to stay with her. Maybe Isak and Even could ride their bikes a little farther and share that joint Even had packed. The promise of an infinite maybes kept him going, made the afternoon bike ride endurable even when Isak’s legs had started to ache.

But Sara tugged at his wrist and pulled him closer, a pout on her lips. That fucking pout, honestly. Isak hated it as much as it simultaneously made him feel like the biggest asshole. To abate some of his guilt, Isak pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, one Sara immediately deepened, and well, that backfired.

“Stay with me?” she whispered, clutching him tightly, and Isak’s throat tightened.

Behind him, Isak heard Even laugh.

“Looks like they could use some privacy, don’t they?” Even was fucking smirking at Sonja, and Isak didn’t know why, but something like anger flared in the pit of his stomach as he watched Even try to give him a wink before riding off with Sonja.

As soon as they were out of sight, Isak felt Sara palm the front of his shorts and he jumped a little.

“You’ve never had a blowjob, have you?”

Isak didn’t answer because 1) Sara fucking knew the answer, 2) What kind of game was Even playing?, 3) Whatever Sara was trying was not going to end well for him. 

"Ah—um, not here, not in public," he said, busying himself with the task of setting down a blanket on the grass and taking out the sandwiches they had packed. 

He couldn't really bring himself to look Sara in the eye. He was aware that she was glaring daggers at him, and hey, it wasn't like he didn't want a blowjob. He had just imagined the circumstances being different. A lot different. Even blowing smoke rings into his mouth. Even, in Sara’s place, between Isak’s legs and taking his dick into his mouth. Even's blue eyes staring at Isak, drinking him in, instead of Sara’s whatever-the-fuck-color eyes. Even, Even, Even. He cringed a little at his own thoughts. 

Luckily, he was spared the torture of having to say something to Sara when Even and Sonja returned, looking like the perfect picture of a couple in love. Isak wondered if Even had said those words to Sonja yet. Probably. He felt a little sick to his stomach.

The four of them sat down on the blanket and ate cold, smoked salmon sandwiches. Isak tasted sawdust. Sonja and Sara kept up an animated discussion, while Isak avoided the curious glances Even was throwing his way and picked at some blades of grass.

“Well, I’m up for some more biking,” Even declared, getting to his feet and looking directly at Isak. “Isak, joining?”

It was phrased like a question, but when Isak looked up at Even with furrowed eyebrows, he saw something in Even’s eyes that told him he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

“Fine,” he muttered. 

He trailed after Even on his bike. He wasn’t really sure how far they’d gone, or how long they’d been biking, but the pain in his muscles was a good distraction from the shame in his heart.

Finally, Even came to a stop and let his bike fall against the tree before sitting on the grass and motioning for Isak to do the same.

“So?” Even’s eyes were twinkling.

“What?” Isak asked, tired.

Even raised his eyebrows.

Isak shrugged. “She asked if I had ever gotten a blowjob.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what happened?”

“None of your business.”

Isak let out an indignant sound when he felt Even shove him. “What? It really isn’t any of your business.” He wasn’t sure why he felt so heated. Why he was so angry. Maybe because he couldn’t look Even in the eyes, either. He could honestly probably never be able to look Even in the eyes. Ever. Which was a damn shame.

Even didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he was on his feet and dragging Isak up with him. “The fuck are you doing?”

“We’re playing a game," Even replied. 

“The hell we are.”

“True or false.”

Isak crossed his arms across his chest. “We really need to be standing for that?” he said, his voice flat.

“Yes. Now, true or false.”

“Aren’t you supposed to give me something to respond to?”

“Shut up, Valtersen, I’m getting there.”

Isak held up his hands, making a show of conceding.

Even breathed in. “True or false. You've never gotten a blowjob before.”

Isak rolled his eyes. “You know I haven't.”

“Not the right answer.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Still not the right answer.”

“Fine.” Isak sighed. “True.”

Even nodded once, then made a motion with his hand. “Your turn.”

“Wasn’t my idea to play.”

“But you participated, so it’s your turn.”

“Fucking fine.” Isak thought for a moment. He knew what he wanted to ask, knew what was on the tip of his tongue. But he refrained. “You hated the smoked salmon sandwiches.”

Even shook his head. “Go again.”

“What? That was a true or false statement,” Isak protested.

“Go again,” Even said, nudging Isak’s foot.

“You’ve had sex with Sonja.”

“True.”

“When?”

“Not part of the game. My turn. Sara gave your your first blowjob.”

 “What’s it to you?”

“True or false.”

“Seriously, you’re so goddamn infuriating—nobody, nobody fucking does this with their friends.” A disbelieving laugh escaped Isak’s mouth.

But when Even didn’t respond, just waited, Isak sighed. “False.”

Even furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth like he had a follow-up question, but Isak interrupted him. “My turn. You’ve told Sonja you love her.”

“False. You’ve told Sara you love her.”

“Of course not. I mean, fuck—false.”

“Look who’s getting the hang of the game.” Even smirked.

“Shut up. You wanted to be my first kiss.”

Isak has wondered. Since that night. About Even’s motives for offering to help him “practice” kissing. No one did that. Or at least, not just anyone did that.

“True. You want to kiss me again.”

Isak barely had time to let Even’s answer sink in before he felt like he was being smacked in the face. How the fuck was he supposed to answer that?

“You want to get back to the girls,” Isak said instead.

“False.” Even took a step closer. “You want to kiss me again.”

“Even.” Isak’s hand was on Even’s chest, stilling him. When he glanced up, Even wasn’t meeting his gaze. His cheeks were red and he almost looked disappointed. Isak didn’t understand him. At all. But if Even was feeling an inkling of the yearning Isak felt when he was around Even, then Isak maybe had some power to appease the worst of it. That was a hard maybe, but still, Isak took the chance and cupped Even’s face, kissing the corner of his mouth gingerly. It tasted vaguely of clementine juice.  It was definitely in his imagination that Isak felt Even melt into him.

“You don’t want to fuck things up and hurt her,” Isak said quietly, stroking Even’s cheek gently.

Isak held his breath, unsure of what to anticipate. But then: “True.” And that settled things. Isak dropped his hand and took a few steps back, laughing a little.

“You want to head back to the girls now,” he said lightly, smiling at Even, like he hadn’t just felt his heart break into two clean pieces.

“I don’t know. False.”

Isak raised his eyebrows, already on his bike. “Well, I’m, like, two seconds away from leaving you behind, so you better hurry up, dude.”

It shouldn’t have been an easy recovery, and it wasn’t, but honestly, it wasn’t like Isak had expected anything else. Maybe Even hadn’t told Sonja he loved her yet, but he was obviously getting to that point. And Isak wasn’t even a contender in the race, and if a small part of himself had actually believed that he was, that part was a gigantic moron.

The bike ride back was more freeing than Isak could’ve predicted. He couldn’t hold onto the idea of Even anymore. Not when there was an Even&Sonja. And that was fine. It wasn’t a big deal. Kisses and stolen moments with Even were a one-off, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm running pretty low on sleep so please excuse me if this chapter has several glaring typos. i've tried my best to edit this, but let me know if i miss something <3


	5. year of the ox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. smoking joints by the windowsill, boys talking, cheese toasties, flashbacks, and more true or false games

**September 25, 2018**

FREDAG | 22:07 

“Hallo?” Even calls out when they enter his apartment, but no response comes. Even gives Isak another smile, less tentative at the edges than the last one.

Isak doesn’t entirely know what his face is doing, but he attempts to return the smile.

Even takes off his shoes and Isak follows suit, but when Even starts taking off his jacket, Isak doesn’t hasten to do the same. He’s unsure, but he’s also transfixed with watching Even move around in a living space that’s not the bedroom he had as a lanky 16-year-old. It’s entirely familiar to Even and wholly unfamiliar to Isak.

Isak absently runs his fingers over a guitar, while Even does god-knows-what in the kitchen. Since the “Um, so” fiasco, they haven’t actually said anything to each other.

He glances at the photographs that litter the wall then. Some are in black and white, but most are bursting with color. He recognizes some of the subjects: there’s a portrait of Mikael. Iridescent paint drops in orange, cyan, and magenta are splattered on his skin, his face, and Isak can’t explain it—he’s never been capable of explaining art, really—but he thinks it undeniably captures Mikael. There’s not much he knows about the guy, other than the fact that he’s as into art as Even is, but it’s fitting that though he’s not smiling in the photo, he looks at peace with specks of paint claiming his skin.

There are others: of Adam, Mutta, Elias, and Yousef, and they’re all reminiscent to the one of Mikael’s, in that Isak knows Even’s put careful thought and love into constructing these images to capture the essence of the people he cares about.

“You took these?” Isak finally says, even though he already knows the answer.

“Didn’t realize I’m into taking photos from my interview responses?” Even just sounds amused. Before Isak can feel stupid, though, Even comes to stand next to him and hands him a beer. “I took these. I realize I didn’t ask you, so I also have non-alcoholic drinks.”

Isak shakes his head. “Beer’s fine.”

There are more photographs laid out on the coffee table. Recent ones, Isak guesses. 

For a moment, Isak studies a photo of a homeless woman, sitting huddled at the Tøyen tram stop, seemingly defeated and cold to continue begging for change. There’s another one of her, except it’s not a candid. She's smiling at the camera. At Even. Isak wonders if Even got that one after he talked to her, gave her the attention no one else spared even momentarily. Isak makes a mental note to himself to start carrying more change in his wallet from now on.

“It’s good,” he says just as his gaze moves to the next one and—fuck, he really must be 14 again or something because he feels his face grow warm.

It’s a black and white photo of a man, standing naked in a field of what looks like wheat, holding up a leaf that shields his mouth, but not his eyes. And that’s not the only one. There’s one of the man lying naked on the ground, underneath a rowan tree, and OK, there’s nothing sexual about the photos, but there’s certainly something _sensual_ about it.

“It’s for a new series I’m doing,” Even says, and Isak feels a little embarrassed that he hasn’t torn his gaze away from those pictures. Then he feels embarrassed about being embarrassed. It’s not like he hasn’t seen naked men in his life. Not like he hasn’t enjoyed seeing them.

“It’s good,” he says again, his voice a little high. He clears his throat and finally glances away from the picture to look at Even, who smiles and takes a seat by the window sill.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Unsure of what else to do, Isak sits across from him.

“Hmm, I distinctly remember someone saying my work had no value.” There’s a teasing lilt to Even’s voice, so Isak feels comfortable rolling his eyes.

“I said that about one picture. And I just said I didn't get it. Because I don't know shit about art. Anyway, shouldn’t you know how to handle criticism by now?”

Even shrugs. “You would think, but I’ve let that exclusive feature in The Society Register get to my head.”

Isak laughs, kicks Even’s shin lightly. “Piss off.”

The words strike a chord of familiarity in Isak’s chest and he’s transported back to the countless times he sat in Even’s bedroom, Even teasing him about one thing or another, and Isak only responding with a very witty “piss off.” When he looks at Even, Even’s glancing out the window and there’s some new tension in his shoulders that Isak wants to reach out and touch and ease.

“Why wasn’t your name on it?” Even asks.

“Hmm?”

“On the article about me. The byline wasn’t your name.”

“Oh, um, not a reporter.” Isak shrugs. “Jonas did most of the work on the article. The questions, most of the writing, all of the editing. Seemed only fair.”

Even nods, then lights up a joint that had been tucked behind his ear—and how had Isak not even noticed that? He takes a puff, then passes it to Isak, who feels another surge of aching familiarity when he accepts it.

“You went to University of Oslo?” Isak asks after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah.”

“I started last year.”

“Graduated early,” Even says, like he’s reading Isak’s mind. “Probably why we never ran into each other.”

“And now you’re—” Isak trails off, because he’s so bad at playing catch-up, Jesus. Could he sound more stilted?

“—taking photos and working at KB.”

“You’re living with the boys?”

Even laughs. “Just Mikael. Apartment isn't that big.”

Isak nods.

“What about you?”

“Found housing with Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus.”

“Friends from UiO?”

“Yeah.”

“And the blonde guy?”

“Magnus?” Isak asks, confused.

“That his name?” Even looks equally confused.

Then, Isak realizes. “Julian. The guy from tonight?”

Even doesn’t say anything, seems to be waiting for Isak.

“Just a friend.” Isak shrugs.

Isak’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he looks at it for a moment before pressing the lock button. It’s just Magnus whining about being left alone in the apartment, anyway. The other two will deal with it, Isak assumes. Or Isak will when he gets home. 

“You can finish it,” Even says, handing Isak the joint.

He’s aware of Even’s gaze on him, he’s squirming a little under the attention.

“Where’s Mikael?” he asks just to break the silence.

“At the bar.”

And Even’s here. With Isak. Again, as if he knows where Isak’s thoughts are straying, he says, “It’s OK. He was meeting a girl from Tinder.”

“And you?”

Even cocks an eyebrow, then looks serious. “Also meeting a girl from Tinder.” Then, he checks his watch. “Shit, I think I ditched her at the bar. I should probably go back.”

Isak narrows his eyes. “You’re joking?”

Even laughs. “Yes, I’m joking. I was just keeping him company. Wanted to get out of the apartment.”

“Clearly a successful attempt,” Isak points out, gesturing first at Even, then at the apartment in general.

Even shrugs. “This is better.”

The three words seem loaded. What’s better? Being back in his apartment? Being there with Isak? Both? Neither? Isak’s not sure, but he doesn’t ask, doesn’t really want to know the answer.

A few moments pass in silence and Even brings one long leg up to his chest. Isak’s eyes track the movement.

“Game?” Even asks, his voice quiet.

Isak doesn’t say anything.

“True or false, Isak.”

* * *

 

**SIX YEARS AGO (Isak, 13 | Even 15)**

**November 12, 2015**

ONSDAG | 17:58 

Isak didn’t know how much Even knew, but he figured Even’s mom knew everything.

Even’s father was away on business trips more often than not, and his mother was a history teacher at Isak's school in Grefsen, which worked out pretty well because she could drop Even off at Bakka first before taking Isak to school every morning. Sometimes she picked them up, like that day, but instead of taking them home, she had dropped Even off and driven Isak to the rehab center.

“Thought you might like to see your mamma, Isak,” she had said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Isak had shaken his head. He hadn’t seen his mamma in a week. Maybe it had been a few days longer than a week; he had lost track. It wasn’t exactly tough to get acclimated to living with the Bech Næsheims. Plus, he was plenty occupied with catching up on the schoolwork he had missed on _those_ three days.

His mamma hadn’t said anything to him. Isak hadn’t known what to say to her, either. One of the nurses had told him she was under a lot of medication. It was a good thing; she was going to get better. But Isak wasn’t sure how good it was when it had turned his mamma into an automated shell.

Maybe he had looked as shaken as he felt when he returned to the car because Even’s mom took him to REMA 1000 under the guise of grocery shopping, but only picked up those cookies he really liked even though he hadn’t asked for it.

“Where were you?” Even asked when Isak dropped down on his bed and extended the cookies toward him.

“Visiting my mamma.”

“How is she?” Even’s voice was careful and concerned. Nothing like Elias’, who had borne witness to his mamma’s meltdown in REMA once and sounded downright cruel when he asked about her. But Isak didn’t understand what was wrong with his mamma, so he couldn’t really expect a kid he barely knew to understand.

Isak shrugged in response, thrusting the box of cookies a little more emphatically until Even conceded and took one.

“Wanna watch the Simpsons?” he asked, looking at Even then and realizing something was off. Even looked different. He had ditched his faded graphic tees for a plaid shirt and his hair looked—well, it didn’t fall over his forehead and eyes anymore, but it looked like there was something in it.

Isak wrinkled his nose. “Why does your hair look like that?”

“Like what?” Even asked, defensive but also self-conscious.

“Wait, is there gel in it? Did you _style_ it?” Isak laughed and kept laughing even when Even gave him a hard shove. “Seriously, why do you look like a hipster Backstreet Boy?”

“I always look like this.”

“False.”

Even didn’t say anything, just stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. Isak chucked a pillow in his direction that barely scraped his back. Even picked up the pillow and threw it back at Isak, hitting him in the face.

“What the fuck, Even?”

“Does my hair look that bad?”

“Who gives a shit?”

“Sonja might.”

Isak ears perked up. Sonja? Who the fuck was Sonja? “Sonja?”

Even sighed, like he hadn’t meant for her name to slip out, but when he turned around, there was a small smile on his face. “This girl in my art class. She’s cool as shit, Isak. Gorgeous, too. I’m meeting her for coffee.”

“Ah. So, a date.”

Even shrugged. “Maybe.”

“OK.”

“So.”

“So?”

Even gestured to his hair. “Bad?”

Isak rolled his eyes, but stood up to put his hands on Even’s shoulders. “Even, I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

Even looked confused, but he nodded. “OK?”

“She’s. Not. Going. To. Give. A. Shit.”

Even snorted and shrugged Isak’s hands off. “And if she does, well…” Isak trailed off.

“Well what?” Even prompted.

“She’s lame. And you can find a cooler, prettier girl who won’t give a shit what your hair looks like. I mean, I don’t give a shit and I still like you.”

“You like me?”

Isak sighed. “I mean, you’re a dork and all, but yeah, you’re not terrible.”

Even grinned, then when he realized it was 18:30, cursed something under his breath that his mom definitely would’ve chastised him for and after squeezing Isak’s shoulder, left. For his date. With some girl named Sonja. Cool. 

* * *

**September 25, 2018**

FREDAG | 22:45 

It’s not as nerve-wracking as Isak expected. They play true or false while Even makes them both cheese toasties, and the game's inconsequential, but it’s an easy way to talk.

“You still hate smoked salmon sandwiches.”

Even wrinkles his nose. “True. You think my photos are pretentious.”

“False. I told you they were good. You’re going to regret adding chili to the toasties.”

Even looks affronted. “What are you implying?”

Isak shrugs, but presses his lips together and grins. “Not an answer.”

“True _and_ false,” Even says after a beat. “This is going to be the worst cheese toastie you’ve ever had.”

“Oh, definitely true. You’re the one who wanted to put all the spices.”

“False. Only because you said yes to all of them.”

“True.”

They sit on the floor by Even’s bed and eat the toasties. Even’s right; it really is the worst cheese toastie Isak’s ever tasted. It’s salty, it’s spicy, it’s a whole lot of things that overpowers the simplicity of a cheese toastie, but Isak doesn’t care. Sitting on the floor with Even, arguing about who committed the atrocious crime on the cheese toasties, is the nicest thing he’s experienced in—well, in five years.

“You’re happy.”

Isak looks up at Even. “Hmm?”

“You’re happy. True or false.”

Isak’s heart clenches a little and he shrugs. " _Y_ _ou’re_ happy.”

Even shrugs, too, and Isak supposes that's a sufficient answer. “I missed this. And you.”

“Uh.” Isak flounders for a moment. “True?”

Even laughs. “I wasn’t playing the game. Just saying I missed it.”

Isak nods; his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth, and he doesn’t know what to say. Of course he’s missed this, too, missed Even so much that the Even-shaped hole in his heart is content and purring, satisfied after just an hour with him. Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything because Even’s doorbell rings and Even stands.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I forgot we were supposed to go to this party at midnight with a few people. You’re welcome to join.”

“OK.” Isak stands, bends down to retrieve the snapback he’d tossed aside, while Even greets a few people and starts an easy conversation. He introduces Isak to a few people he doesn’t know and then—

“You remember Sonja.”

Isak looks at Even, but Even’s not really meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, hi,” Isak says, turning his attention to Sonja, who looks between Even and Isak a little warily, but then steps forward to hug Isak.

“Good to see you again, Isak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will probably be a little longer than the ones so far (if i don't lose my patience) :)


	6. the hidden river of my life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feat. some mentions of isak's home life so as a heads up, that part's definitely angsty

**FIVE YEARS AGO (Isak, 14 | Even, 16)**

**August 6, 2013**

TIRSDAG | 20:23 

Isak rubbed his eyes, dug his nails into his cheeks, and finally, looked at his reflection in the mirror. Somehow, everything that was wrong in his life internally had manifested externally.

His hair looked shaggy. There were bags under his red-rimmed eyes that made him look older than he was. His face looked gaunt and that was just as well, because his mamma had stopped cooking months ago. He ate microwaved meals when his pappa remembered to stock up. Even had known enough about his situation to buy him food whenever they went out, even when Isak protested. Except, he hadn’t seen Even for a few days. Not until the afternoon they rode bikes. Until now.

Now, he didn’t even have his father to remember to stock up. Because he had left. Left Isak and Marianne. Who had lost her shit. Isak didn’t think there was any sensitive way to phrase it.

He had come home from Sara’s to find plates and mugs broken. The coffee table had been toppled over. His mamma had sat in the middle of the chaos, looking ragged, a nearly empty liquor bottle by her side. Isak had physically never seen any human being look that broken. He hoped he never would again. She was supposed to have been better, goddammit. The nurses had told him the medications would make her better. And now, now his father had gone and fucked it all up.

A knock at the door prompted him to flush the toilet even though he hadn’t used it, and he started running the faucet.

“Uh, coming,” he called out over the sound of the water,  just in case it was Even’s mother.

He quickly splashed some water on his face, wiping some of the excess off his eyes with the hem of his T-shirt before stepping outside and coming chest-to-chest with Even.

“Hi,” Even said. A little redundantly, in Isak’s opinion.

It wasn’t like Even hadn’t seen him when his mom brought Isak to their place. Although, Isak supposed he had locked himself in the bathroom almost immediately.

“Hi,” he said. He was tired. He was too tired to pretend he was taking a break from Even. Even was a minor childish worry in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t even know where his mamma _was_ or how she was doing _._ She’d been so drunk. She’d been throwing up when Isak called Even’s mother for help.

Waiting for help had perhaps been the worst. His mamma had gotten angry, started yelling. She had started throwing stuff, believing Isak to be Terje.

At first, it wasn’t anything big. Pillows and rolls of newspapers that Isak dodged or caught.

But then, when he had been preoccupied with trying to get his mamma to calm down, it had been a glass. He ducked, but a shard still scraped his forehead.

He hadn’t noticed he was bleeding until Even’s mother had looked at him, alarmed, and insisted that he had to see a doctor, too, in case he needed stitches.

He didn’t; just some antiseptic and gauze.

Still, Even was staring at his forehead, looking distressed. “What—what happened?”

“Nothing,” Isak said, maybe a little sharper than he had intended.

He knocked into Even’s shoulder, hard and on purpose, when he walked past him, but Even recovered quickly, his hand wrapping around Isak’s wrist.

Isak felt drained when he turned to look at Even. He couldn’t handle the stupid games. Not tonight. “I’m tired. Give Sonja a ring if you’re fucking bored.”

But Even ignored him and gently tugged at his wrist until Isak sighed. Even took that as a cue to lead him into his bedroom.

“Here,” Even said, handing him a T-shirt.

Isak raised his eyebrows. “What, the one I’m wearing isn’t good enough?”

“No, it’s just—you’ve got something on it.”

Isak glanced down, then remembered. Right. Whiskey and bile. He snatched the T-shirt out of Even’s hands, then changed, tossing his own into Even’s hamper. Even didn’t comment on it, but he led Isak to his bed, like he knew Isak wouldn’t do it of his own volition.

“Does it hurt?” Even asked.

Isak shrugged.

“Do you want something to drink? Or eat?”

“No.”

“Isak.”

Isak stayed silent for a moment, and Even just waited. So goddamn patient and concerned. Fucking annoying. Isak couldn’t really help it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped.

Even looked confused. “What? Nothing. I just figured you might be—”

“No, shut up, shut the fuck up. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you’re responsible for fixing me up or whatever because you’re not and I don’t need to to be fixed.”

“OK? I didn’t say you did?”

Isak glared at Even, his breathing a little ragged. “Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“Give me your phone,” Isak demanded.

“Isak, you’re being—”

“Yeah? What am I being?”

Even held his gaze, not saying anything for a moment. Then, a moment later, handed Isak his phone after entering the passcode.

Isak pulled up his contacts, found Sonja’s name, then pressed the mobile icon. “Here, now you don’t have to bug me anymore,” he muttered, handing the phone back to Even.

Even looked exasperated. “Isak, what the fuck?” He ended the call before Sonja could pick up, but he wasn’t returning the glare Isak was shooting in his direction. “Are you mad at me? Because of Sonja?”

“No.”

“Yeah? Then, what’s with this?” Even waved his phone in Isak’s face, but Isak turned his head away. “What’s with ignoring my texts and not calling me back for the past fucking week?”

“I’m tired.”

“Isak.”

Even sounded wrecked. And that was enough to wreck Isak. Which was stupid. The pinnacle of stupid.

Except, he wasn’t just sad about Even. His pappa was gone. His mamma was—he didn’t even know. And he was alone. And confused. About everything. Before he knew it, arms had encircled him, and he was being pulled close to Even’s chest. His own arms stayed limp by his sides, but after a few moments, when he realized Even wasn’t going to let him go anytime soon, his hands held on to Even.

* * *

 

**September 26, 2018**

LØRDAG | 00:03 

Isak goes to the party. If nothing else, it’s free booze at someone else’s expense. Not to mention, Even isn’t exactly being furtive about the glances he’s throwing his way, and frankly, neither is Sonja. Which, what the fuck? Since when is _she_ so concerned about Isak?

He responds to Magnus’ text to keep himself distracted.  Jonas is with Eva, and Mahdi had gone a date with some girl he’d been crushing since he saw her in the cafeteria during first year. Isak assumes it’s going well since he’s heard nothing from Mahdi other than a gushing, “boys, she’s amazing.”

In the meantime, Isak busies himself by talking to Einar, one of Even’s friends from university. By association, Isak supposes he’s a friend of Sonja’s, too. Whatever.

Einar’s nice, looks at Isak a little too keenly, laughs at his jokes and sarcastic comments a little too hard. He’s not _that_ fucking funny, Einar, for fuck’s sake.

Isak doesn’t know why he’s annoyed. Maybe it’s because Sonja and Even are walking a few feet ahead of him, deep in conversation. He doesn’t really know what he expected, but it angers him that Sonja’s seen Even through all his formative years when Isak didn’t. Through high school, through university, through the start he got as a photographer, through all of it. But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s not exactly free of fault any more than Even is.

As soon as Isak gets to the house party, he ditches Einar to take a piss. He doesn’t really need to, but he knew where it was going with Einar, OK? He’s not an idiot.

No one looks at him the way Einar did unless they wanted him on his knees later that night. Which, it’s not a terrible idea. After all, that was why he met up with Julian in the first place. Maybe after another beer, Isak decides.

When he leaves the peace and quiet of the bathroom, he wanders into the kitchen in search of another drink. The minute he walks in, two people break apart.

“Shit, sorry—” Isaks starts to apologize, but stops short when he realizes that one of them in Sonja. And the other is definitely not Even.

It’s fucking Einar.

Did he just walk in on Sonja cheating on Even? What the fuck is his life?

But neither of them look particularly fazed by the interruption. Sonja just smiles. “No worries, Isak. Beer’s over there.”

Isak nods dumbly and leaves without even taking a beer. His mind races.

  1. Were Even and Sonja not together?
  2. Maybe they were in an open relationship or something.
  3. Why did he care this much?
  4. Also, Einar? Isak could’ve bet his head on the fact that the guy had been coming on to him.
  5. Maybe his gaydar was that bad. Eskild seemed to think so.



Right as he turns a corner, he feels himself collide into someone. Even reaches out to steady him and smiles, looking a little nervous.

“Hey,” he says easily. “I was looking for you. Thought you might’ve left.”

Isak just shakes his head.

“Wanna go outside for a bit? I was thinking of getting some air.”

Even starts leading the way, and as was typical, Isak follows. When they’re outside, Even walks a little until they find a bench and sits down.

“Got pretty loud in there,” he says, always the first to break heavy silences.

And Isak can’t help it. “You and Sonja—”

Even looks surprised for a minute, then laughs. “Yeah. Small world, huh?”

What?

The confusion must show on Isak’s face because Even raises his eyebrows. “Wait, what are you thinking?”

“Huh?”

“Did you think I’m dating Sonja?”

Duh. But Isak doesn’t say anything. And Even takes that as an affirmative answer.

“Fuck—no. She’s dating Einar. Sorry. I should’ve told you earlier. I just—I don’t know, I guess I figured you knew.”

“Why the _fuck_ would I know?” Isak breathes out in disbelief.

Even chuckles. “Sorry, you’re right. Um, no. Einar—he, uh, he was my roommate in college for a year. I hadn’t actually heard from Sonja for a while, but I guess I should’ve made the connection when he kept talking about his girlfriend Sonja. Except—I don’t know, it’s a pretty common name, I just didn’t. Plus, all I knew about her beyond her name was that she lived in Trondheim. And then, well, she came for a visit and here we are.”

Isak wonders if he’s gaping at Even right now. He feels like he might be. “Must’ve been one awkward visit,” he finally says after a few moments.

Even snorts. “True. Definitely true.” Then, after a moment: “I don’t think either of us expected it. To become friends. After, well, you know. And we didn’t, to be honest. Not for a long time. Einar had no idea why we were so fucking awkward around each other.” Even laughs. “But then he knew. And I don’t know. Not like we were stuck in an elevator together and forced to talk things out or anything.”

Isak licks his lips. “Then?”

Even shrugs. Looks thoughtful. “I guess it was just time. That and the realization that we weren’t dumb 16-year-olds anymore. The lack of mutual romantic attachment helped, too, I guess. Not much pain or heartbreak or anything. Because she’s so far gone over Einar. No contest.” Even sounds like he’s smiling and when he turns to look at Isak, Isak sees that he is.

“She was surprised to see you,” Even says after a moment.

“I’m surprised, too,” Isak mutters.

“About seeing her?”

Isak shakes his head. “About sitting here with you.”

Something in Even’s expression softens, and Isak’s heart can’t take it. So, he lightens the moment.

“I thought for sure I was gonna go home with Einar tonight,” he says, idly picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

There’s silence for a moment and then Even’s laughing so loud, it practically echoes in Isak’s ears. And fuck if it isn’t the most beautiful sound he’s heard in his life. And fuck if Isak’s heart doesn’t bloom at the sound.

Even’s shoulders are shaking and he’s looking at Isak with such unadulterated joy that it’s hard for Isak to believe this boy sitting next to him has felt any of the world’s pain. Isak laughs, too, and it’s easy for him to believe that he’s never felt any pain in his life, either.

“Isak,” Even says when he catches his breath. “You have to believe me when I say this. You could have anyone in this fucking world wrapped around your finger. And I know sexuality is fluid and all, but Einar is quite possibly the straightest man I’ve met in my life.”

* * *

 

**FIVE YEARS AGO (Isak, 14 | Even, 16)**

**August 6, 2013**

TIRSDAG | 21:15 

When they had pulled apart, Even, thankfully, didn’t say anything. He just played the Simpsons on his TV and then left abruptly after a few minutes.

Before Isak had much time to feel uneasy about Even’s absence, he was back with a bowl of pasta, which Even managed to coax Isak into eating. He wanted to pretend like it was a hassle, but honestly, he was fucking hungry and he had scarfed every morsel down in a matter of minutes.

Even took Isak’s plate back to the kitchen and, when he returned, quietly closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Even said, long after they had watched an entire episode.

Isak shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure what Even was apologizing for. What had happened at the double date? His pappa leaving his mamma? Probably the latter. He was tired all over again. Thinking was wearing him out. He wished he could temporarily—maybe even permanently—shove a stopper in his thoughts.

When he couldn’t really take the pounding in his head anymore, he let himself lay back on Even’s bed. Just for a few moments, he promised himself. Even shuffled around for a bit: turning off the overhead light and only leaving a lamp on, turning down the volume of the TV, trading in his jeans for a pair of gray sweatpants that hung loosely on his hips and—and Isak looked. Any other day, he might’ve tried not to. Because of what the Bible said, because of what his mamma said, because of what Elias said. But nothing was real to him anymore.

Except, well, the boy who lay down next to him was. He was easily the realest thing in Isak’s life.

Isak was still on his back, an arm tucked underneath his head, but Even turned his body to face him. One long line of warmth and love and comfort. That’s what Even was.

“I don’t think Sara could ever break my heart,” Isak said, his voice quiet.

Even didn’t say anything.

“I don’t think I could break hers, either,” he continued, then turned on his side to face Even. It was a little heady. Being this close to Even, wearing his T-shirt, laying on his bed, all of it.

Even still didn’t say anything; he just gave a small nod to indicate he was listening.

“I saw what it did to my mamma. Heartbreak. I mean, I know there’s a lot wrong with her right now, but—she loved my pappa. Loves. I don’t think I ever want to feel like that.”

“What, heartbroken?” Even asked.

Isak nodded. “Doesn't it suck? That love is this great thing. This thing everybody wants and spends their whole lives looking for. And they find something good and real once, maybe twice, in a lifetime, and it’s everything. All-consuming. And then it ends and it’s the scariest thing in the world.”

Isak closed his eyes, partly to stave off the stinging in his eyes, and partly because Even’s gaze was too intense. He felt a gentle hand on his cheek. Even touched the gauze-covered cut on Isak’s forehead gingerly and his touch stung like Isak’s body had forgotten about the wound and was forced to remember the pain. Isak winced and Even’s hand found its way back to Isak's cheek.

It was nice—the weight of Even’s hand on his face.

“You don’t want to fall in love?” Even asked.

Isak opened his eyes to look at Even. “I think it’s scary.”

“Well, sure, but I think that’s unavoidable,” Even countered. “Like, there’s a reason it’s so good when it’s good and so bad when it’s bad, you know?”

Isak shook his head. He really didn’t know.

Even smiled. “Because of what you said. It’s everything. It’s all-consuming when you find the right person. So, when things go bad or you have a stupid fight or—or don’t talk for, like, a week, it feels like the end of the world. And you realize you would give up your right arm just to hear their voice again or have them look at you, even if they’re mad. And it’s so good when it’s good because—well, it’s because you know you’d be a wreck if it ended. Because being with that person feels like everything. Every fucking thing in the universe. Good and bad.”

Isak wanted to call him a sap, just to lighten the moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to because he felt like his heart was lodged somewhere in his throat, itching and impatient to latch itself with Even’s.

He moved a little closer, then felt a splash of regret. Before he could rectify his stupidity, Even’s foot hooked around his ankle, keeping him there.

“Is that what you feel? With Sonja?” Isak asked.

To him, it felt like an eternity had passed while he waited for Even to answer, and it was just Isak and Even, unaged, with a Sonja-shaped cloud hanging over both their heads.

“No,” Even finally said.

Isak didn’t believe him. Even seemed to think so, too. 

“Only I can feel what I feel.”

And that’s fair. “Only you can feel what you feel,” Isak agreed.

“Is it what you feel?”

Isak raised his eyebrows. “With Sonja? That’s your girl, Even. All yours.”

But Even didn’t look amused, so Isak sighed. “Literally just told you that I don’t think she could ever break my heart,” he mumbled.

“Who could?”

“You know damn well who.”

The words were out of his mouth and the only thing Isak knew about what followed was the fact that he was floating. Suspended in time. Stars pulsating in front of his eyes.

Because Even was kissing him like he needed Isak to breathe. And Isak needed him, too.

He pulled Even closer, then because that didn’t feel close enough, pressed himself against Even’s body. His hands wandered, greedy but uncertain. He wanted to touch Even everywhere he let Isak. And it seemed like Even’s hands were following the same train because his hand was underneath the T-shirt, touching skin, and fuck, if there was such a thing as blissful death, Isak thought he had just experienced it.

“You’re everything,” Even muttered against his lips, and Isak tilted his head back to let him kiss and suck and bruise. It was careless, so careless, but Isak couldn’t bring himself to give a shit.

Craving more, Isak got on top of Even, straddling Even’s waist and cupping his face. " _You’re_ everything,” he said. He was scared out of his fucking mind, but Even was smiling at him so adoringly and nothing could overpower that.

Isak could’ve screamed with the unbridled _want_ he felt deep in his chest. They were grinding against each other, and he could feel Even. Could feel how hard he was. The thought delighted him.

“Can we—I need—”

Isak wasn't entirely sure what he needed. But he needed something to ease the desperation in his heart, to ease the nagging voice in his head that told him this was a one-off, too. Isak touched the front of Even’s sweatpants and felt Even tremble underneath him. He could feel himself trembling.

“Hey.” Even’s hand was on top of Isak’s. “It’s OK.”

It wasn’t. Because it could’ve been a one-off and he needed everything from Even, from _his_ everything.

“Isak.”

And then, Isak was being maneuvered gently so he was back on his side and Even’s arm was around him, pulling him close.

“True or false,” Isak said.

“OK.”

“You want to.”

“True.”

Isak waited.

“You’re upset. About your mom and dad. I don’t want it to be something you do to get your mind off things or distract yourself.”

“It’s not.” Or it is a little. Partially.

“We have time.”

“A meteor could hit us tomorrow.”

“We’ll make time before it does.”

“A meteor could hit us in the next hour.”

“What, are you a psychic meteorologist now?”

Isak nodded seriously. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Even.”

“I want to get to know it all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Isak buried his face in Even’s chest, breathing him in as Even held him closer. Yeah. He supposed they did have time.

* * *

**September 26, 2018**

LØRDAG | 1:02 

When Isak lets himself into his apartment, he finds Magnus on the sofa, an avalanche of takeout containers burying him. He sits down beside Magnus, feeling lighter than he has in a while and he doubts it’s all the beers he's had. At least that's not the only reason. 

“Ayy, you look happy,” Magnus says, turning down the volume of the TV. “Get some with Julian?”

“Nah.”

“What?” Magnus sounds genuinely shocked. “Why are you so happy then? Did you get some with someone else?”

“I have to get some to be happy?”

Magnus shrugs. “I mean, not always, but usually. Not like it lasts all that long, anyway. Maybe you should start staying over at people’s places. Or letting them stay over. Cuddle a little.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Duh. I know that. That’s why I said you should.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but Magnus’ words are just bouncing off of him. Really, he’s practically buzzing from head to toe. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he almost flings it at Magnus in his haste to read the text.

“Oy,” Magnus exclaims. “Who’s texting you so late? Booty call?”

Isak shakes his head because he’s learned his lesson about ever ignoring Magnus.   

 

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Get home alright?
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Nah got kidnapped on the tram ride home
> 
> You might have to pay the ransom
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Starving artist Isak
> 
> Your lack of presence is a loss to the world but I just can’t afford it :(
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Haha
> 
> Funny
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> So I might have a favor to ask you
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> ??
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> I need one more portrait for my series
> 
> And everyone I know has already done it
> 
> So
> 
> Would you be keen?
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> The naked series?
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Wasn’t what I had in mind but if that’s what you’re keen on doing, then sure
> 
> Who am I to impose any restrictive modesty rules on you
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Shut up
> 
> Fine
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Cool :)
> 
> Night, Isak
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who's sticking with this fic! i'm thinking there'll be 10 chapters in total, so it should be wrapping up pretty soon with some longer chapters :)


	7. all the trees of the field will clap their hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. the boy who couldn't hold his breath under water

**September 30, 2018**

ONSDAG | 11:59 

A crumpled ball of paper hits Isak square in the face—and Jesus shit, do all his friends just arm themselves with wads of paper to fling at him?

First Sana, now Jonas; Isak thinks he’ll really lose his cool if Magnus is next on the list.

As it is, he just bends down to pick up the piece of paper, rolls it into a ball again, and chucks it at Jonas. The few people who’ve come a couple of minutes early for the Register’s meeting eye them like they’re childish dorks, and fuck yeah, that’s exactly what they are. Besides, most of them are first-years and as the editor-in-chief, Jonas is technically their boss, so Isak doubts any of them are going to actually have the balls to say anything.

Isak returns the silent, what-the-fuck motion Jonas is making to the best of his abilities, though he doubts he’s very successful. Jonas is all expressive eyebrows and gestures and Magnus swears even the fall of Jonas’ hair is indicative of his mood.

When Jonas leads the meeting, Isak glances down at his phone, smiling, despite himself, at a SpongeBob meme Even had sent him.

To his credit, he tries. He tries not to be reeled back into Even’s world with memes, true or false games, and easy banter. But his stupid heart is plotting against him because it’s not easy. They haven’t been texting incessantly or anything—just a few times a day and sending each other memes isn’t dangerous, OK? He’s not going to fall in love with Even based on which meme he finds funniest. He’s not going to fall in love, period. They’re only talking to iron out the details about his photoshoot, which, fuck.

Isak had been so consumed by rekindling a semblance of a friendship with Even that he had almost forgotten about the photoshoot. He opens up Even’s messages and wonders whether he’s got time to back out of it. It’s not like he’s going to leave him high and dry or anything; Isak has the decency to find a replacement.

Maybe Jonas. Jonas is addressing the room, assigning more stories, but Isak’s not listening to a word he’s saying.

Yeah. Maybe Jonas.

The eyebrows, the hair, his humble mystique, thoughtfulness, goodness—Isak can easily imagine Jonas being the subject of an artsy portrait.

And it’s _not_ just because he’d felt a flare of dangerous hope when he first met Jonas and thought he could be Isak’s everything. A month into being friends, Isak realized he had been sorely mistaken, not least because of the fact that _Eva_ quickly became Jonas' everything. Isak and Jonas just meshed better as bros. The fact that Jonas was straight and in a committed relationship with one of his closest friends helped.

Another wad of paper hits him.

“Oy,” Isak protests.

When he looks around, he realizes the meeting’s over and people are filing out.

“What’s with you?” Jonas asks, pulling up a chair to sit next to him.

“What? With me? You’re the one attacking me with pieces of paper. What’s with _you_?”

Jonas rolls his eyes, then stands up. “Come on, I’ve got class in 15 minutes and I’m fucking starving. Let’s get lunch.”

He adjusts his yellow beanie, and yeah, Isak thinks, definitely Jonas. Only, the mere idea of Even snapping pictures of Jonas, giving him his undivided attention and care and artistic thought, makes something in his stomach drop. So, maybe not Jonas.

* * *

**FIVE YEARS AGO (Isak, 14 | Even, 16)**

**August 11, 2013**

SØNDAG | 14:20 

It happened almost every night after Even’s mom went to bed.

Isak abandoned his guest room in favor of Even’s. Kissing, touching, cuddling, talking. Except, neither of them brought up Sonja. Or Sara.

To Isak’s knowledge, Even wasn’t seeing Sonja regularly. They didn’t go out on dates and she never stayed over.

When she did come over, Isak left the house to visit his mamma at the hospital, or when that seemed too bleak a prospect, he was at Sara’s house, where he wondered what Even was doing. Fucking Sonja on the same bed he kissed and held Isak every night?

He wasn’t angry. He didn’t have any right to be, he supposed—not when Sara was on top of him, peppering kisses and bites along his neck and guiding his hands to her ass. He wanted to feel something, anything. But it was only the promise of being back in Even’s arms that left him tingling.

A part of him dared to feel triumphant about the fact that Isak was starting to take precedence over Sonja in Even’s life. That, even though Isak was still seeing Sara and Even was with Sonja, colors came alive and the world disappeared when they got under the covers every night and touched and touched and touched, like they were both foreign to the sensation as a whole.

And it wasn’t just under the covers.

Sometimes they were reckless. Sometimes, before Sonja came over, Isak sucked on Even’s neck a little too hard, a little too deliberately. And Even, knowing what Isak was up to, did the same to the extent where Isak had to borrow some of Even’s plaid shirts and button it all the way up to hide the marks from Sara.

Sometimes, they laid their affection out in the open.

Isak’s hair was damp from sweat and his T-shirt clung to his skin while he rode his bike a little faster to match Even’s pace. It took him a moment to realize why he recognized the scenery; Even was leading him down the same path they had taken to the spot where they first played true or false.

Even dismounted his bike and extended his hand toward Isak.

“Why here?” Isak asked, glancing around for a moment, ensuring no one was around, before letting Even take his hand. They were in broad daylight. The recklessness was exciting and all, but neither of them could afford to chance preventable slips-ups.

Instead of answering him, Even led him past the throng of trees until the chirping of birds got louder and Isak smelled freshwater.

“For this.”

Isak raised his eyebrows. “I’m not biking back wet.”

“Who said you had to?”

Isak stared at Even for a moment. “You know how water works, right?”

Even laughed, tugging Isak closer until he felt like a basketball had hit him in the chest and knocked the wind out of him. “You know how clothes work, right?”

Isak felt his mouth run dry.

Was Even suggesting— “But we’re in public,” Isak protested.

Even looked around, then shrugged. “I don’t see anyone but us.”

“You’re—you’re so—”

“—full of good ideas, I know.”

Even pulled back a little to take off his T-shirt, then raised his eyebrows at Isak. “Scared?”

Isak scoffed. “Me? Scared? Do I look scared?”

“A little.”

“I’m never scared. I’m the most fearless person. I’ve won awards for it.”

“Sure. Prove it, then.”

Isak only hesitated for a moment before pulling his own shirt over his head. He could feel his exposed skin start to grow warm—and presumably, turn red—but he gave Even his best, most challenging look. Even’s eyes trailed down the expanse of his neck to his chest to the waistband of his jeans and Isak felt a surge of bravery. Because Even was looking at him like he didn’t want to stop and it was unnerving and exciting and set his skin on fire, but Isak didn’t want him to stop, either.

So, before he could overthink it, his jeans and boxers were around his ankles and now, he was sure his face looked like a beet with eyes and an upturned nose. Still, he put an air of false bravado, kicked off his shoes and clothes and brushed past Even to jump into the river. When he emerged to the surface, he ran his hand through his wet hair so it didn’t fall over his eyes.

“Look who’s scared now,” he called out.

Even looked at him in amazement for a moment, like he couldn’t quite believe what Isak had done, before following suit. And again—Isak watched. Unabashedly. Nothing could’ve stopped him. Not his mamma. Not the fear of what kids at school would say if they found out. Not the supposed threat of burning in hell. Not Leviticus 20:13 — “If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable.”

Because there was nothing detestable about Even, who looked free and happy and fucking beautiful when he jumped into the water. After a moment, he felt hands around his ankles drag him down and Isak tried to drink in Even’s face underwater, even though it was a struggle to keep his eyes open, even though water was entering his lungs.

Luckily, Even lunged forward and kissed him and Isak found himself floating back to the surface. Wet skin on wet skin. A kiss that upended him and left his world tilting on its axis. Just them and no one else.

“You’re so fucking bad at holding your breath underwater,” Even mumbled against his lips.

Isak pulled back, affronted. “I swallowed a water droplet.”

“Just one?”

“Just one.”

* * *

 

**October 2, 2018**

FREDAG | 15:00 

Isak rules out Mahdi and Magnus as viable options to replace him in Even’s portrait series, too. He’s not any happier about them being on the receiving end of Even’s attention than he is about Jonas. And really, that’s the extent of the people he could maybe convince to do him favors.

But it’s 15:00 and he’s supposed to meet Even in an hour in his studio in Rådhusgata and he has no idea what to wear. He racks his brain, trying to think back to the portraits he saw of the boys in Even’s apartment. Mikael hadn’t been wearing a shirt; paint splatters had covered his skin. Yousef had been wearing a white sweatshirt and a bandana, which really didn’t stray from his personal style. Come to think of it, none of the boys had been wearing anything outlandish. And Isak supposes that’s the point of this series—for Even to capture him as he is.

Which, who knows what _that_ is?

Eventually, he settles on a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, a hoodie, and jeans. While it doesn’t drift from the way he usually dresses, he hopes he looks a little more put together than he normally does.

Even buzzes him in when he gets to his studio, a smile on his face, and a DSLR slung around his neck, which instantly puts Isak on edge. Apparently Even’s as good as reading Isak now as he used to be because he gives Isak’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Relax, it’s not gonna bite you,” he says, laughing. “Thanks for coming.”

Isak nods and when he looks at Even, the relief on his face is unmistakable. “Wait, did you think I wouldn’t?”

Even seems sheepish when he shrugs. “I know it was last minute, me asking you to do this.”

It doesn’t seem like the whole truth, but Isak doesn’t press. Just nods.

He glances around. Even’s studio is well-equipped. There are light kits, a small station for getting ready, and even a rack of clothes. Isak feels a little embarrassed. He probably should’ve dressed up a little more. “Is this—do you want me to change?”

“What? No, you’re fine.”

“OK.”

Isak watches Even fiddle with the camera settings, point it at Isak as if he’s doing a test run, and then toy with the settings once more until he’s satisfied.

“So, um, what should I do?” Isak asks.

Even directs him to a stool, and Isak sits down. Everything feels too heavy. His head feels disproportionate to his body, his limbs seem like the branches of a banyan tree, and his hair must be a fucking _mess_.

“Could you take off your hoodie?” That’s all the direction Even gives him before he starts snapping pictures.

Isak has never in his life not known what to do with himself as much as he does when he hears the camera’s shutter go off. He watches Even go through the pictures, his eyebrows furrowed. He must deem the results unsatisfactory because he snaps more pictures. All the while, Isak sits there, feeling a lot like a troll from the Trollhunters.

He doesn’t know how many times they do this—Even pausing to look at the pictures, then resuming the shoot, until the sound of the camera’s shutter becomes grating and Isak just feels annoyed.

“Just tell me it’s not any good,” he finally snaps.

Even looks up from his camera, surprised, then apologetic. “I just need you to relax a little.”

Isak sighs and crosses his arms across his chest.

“OK, looking grumpy and pouting is the exact opposite of what I mean when I say you need to relax.” Even laughs, and Isak’s scowl deepens.

“I’m not pouting.”

“Here, just, OK.”

Even seems to consider something for a few moments, then he moves, repositions Isak on the stool, makes him sit a little straighter.

“OK, now, talk to me.”

Isak stares at Even dumbly. “About what?”

“Anything.”

Isak doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t.

“Alright, I’ll ask you questions, then. What’s Jonas like?”

What even is happening right now? “He’s nice.” Isak shrugs.

Even seems to be waiting for more, so Isak rolls his eyes the exact moment he hears Even take another photo. “Talks about capitalism a lot. And, um, how ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely.’” He makes air quotes with his fingers.

“Jonas sounds like a lot of fun.” Even laughs, still taking pictures.

Isak runs a hand through his hair, smiles to himself a little. “He is. A really good friend,” he says honestly.

“OK, I think we got it,” Even says, looking down at his camera again.

Isak feels surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Except, Even hesitates.

“Wait, are you just saying that?”

“What? No, no. I did get it. It’s just—it’s not _really_ you. You know?”

Isak shakes his head.

“Like, it’s a good picture, but I look at this and it’s not telling me anything about you other than that you’re really fucking hot.”

Isak raises his eyebrows, acting like Even didn’t just make his insides melt. “OK? What do you want it to say?”

Even smiles faintly. “Up for a trip?”

**

FREDAG | 16:45

Isak doesn’t know where they’re going. He’s just glad Even apparently drives and has a car now because wherever it is, it’s far.

It takes him a while to recognize the surroundings even though he should know it like the back of his hand. Even drives past the house Isak and his parents used to live in, the house across from the street where Even and his parents lived, and Isak turns his head to look at Even to find that Even’s looking at him, too.

“My mamma doesn’t live here anymore,” he says. He’s not sure why he feels panicked; it’s not like he has traumatizing memories of growing up in the area. It’s just that he’s buried it so deep that the excavation is painful.

“I know.” Even’s voice is soft.

He keeps driving and Isak relaxes a little. For a fearful moment, he had thought Even wanted to take pictures in the place he grew up. He supposes it’s fitting for a revelatory portrait, but no. Absolutely not.

But instead, they’re back on the road, zooming past fields of nothing until the car comes to a stop. There are overgrown weeds and several rowan trees. And Isak knows exactly where they are. Even’s looking at him tentatively.

“Care for a swim?” Even says carefully, like one awry inflection might set Isak off.

“Why here?” Isak asks.

Even shrugs, like it’s complicated, but his answer ends up being the most infuriatingly simple thing in the world. “Because it reminds me of you.”

The sun is starting to set, and Isak has enough knowledge about photography to know that Even doesn’t have much time left to get a good shot. So, Isak starts to take off his shirt. Only, Even stops him.

“Do you mind not?”

Isak raises his eyebrows. “You want me to get into the river in my clothes? All of it?”

“If that’s OK.”

Fuck it, Isak thinks. He’s not going to stand in the way of whatever artistic vision Even’s got in his head right now.

“Ready?”

Isak nods and walks toward the river, fully clothed. He tries not to think about the last time he was here. With Even. Tries not to let the memories sink him like there’s a boulder tied around his neck, forcing him to drown in them.

“What should I do?” he asks when Even comes closer to the edge of the water.

“Hold your breath underwater.”

“What the fuck?”

Even smirks. “Unless you can’t.”

“Fuck you, I can.”

“Doubt it.”

“I’m the master of holding my breath underwater, Even.”

“Then prove it.”

Isak huffs, but submerges himself. He can do it. He can hold his breath underwater. He _can._

His efforts last about five seconds before he surfaces, gasping for air. He hears the faint sound of the camera clicking away over the splashes of water.

“Thought you said you could hold your breath underwater.”

“Piss off.” He splashes some water in Even’s direction, careful not to aim it at the camera.

“What happened? Water droplet?” The setting sun almost forms a halo behind Even, and Isak can’t help but think that someone should be taking _his_ picture instead of Isak’s.

“Water droplet,” Isak agrees, giving Even a small smile.

Even smiles back and continues taking a few more pictures before setting his camera down and extending a hand to help Isak out of the water. Isak doesn’t even think twice about it. He holds Even’s hand and drags him into the water. He hears a glorious, surprised sound escape Even’s lips as he realizes what’s happening and when he surfaces, he doesn’t even look a little pissed.

“I should’ve known you would do that, Jesus Christ,” Even says, rubbing a hand down his face. Isak feels a little bad. At least he had time to take off his jacket; Even’s denim jacket is completely soaked. It looks heavy.

“Did you get it?”

“The picture?”

Isak nods.

Even smiles. “Yeah.”

“Is it bad?”

“You think I’d include a bad picture in my series? You really think that little of me?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“You’ll see.”

“I will?”

“Yeah.”

Isak nods. “I’m sorry I pulled you into the water.”

Even laughs and splashes some water in Isak’s direction. “You’re really fucking not.”

And Isak can’t help it; he grins. “I’m not,” he agrees.

The sun has almost completely set, and it’s somehow easier to stare at Even like this. Isak wants to say something—wants to say a lot, if he’s being completely honest, but he doesn't know where to start.

“You’re going to get a cold,” Isak says instead.

“And you’re somehow immune from it?”

Isak nods and tries to feign graveness, but he can’t, not when Even’s closer than he was a moment ago.

“I study microbiology,” Isak mutters.

“I know.”

“I know about these things.”

Even laughs and Isak can feel his breath fan his entire face.

A moment passes and it feels like they’re both holding their breaths. Then, slowly, like the pace is painful for him, Even raises his hand, his thumb stroking Isak’s face so gently that it feels like the phantom of a touch he once remembered, ached, craved.

“You want to,” Even says, but he doesn’t sound sure of himself. Isak realizes it’s a question, realizes what he’s doing.

True. 100 percent true.

“I can’t.”

Even’s hand drops and he nods like he understands. Isak can’t really see his face, but somehow, he knows exactly what it’s doing. And maybe that’s what hurts the most. The fact that, despite everything, despite the five years they lost, Isak knows Even and Even knows Isak.

“I just can’t do it again,” Isak mutters, feeling the need to explain himself.

“Yeah, no, I get it.” Even gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Because it would hurt.”

Even nods, but looks pained.

“And I might regret it.”

Even nods again and puts a little more distance between the two of them. “So, we should probably—”

“—and it might suck.”

Even furrows his eyebrows. “ _What_?” he asks. “Why would it suck?”

“Because—because it’s been a while,” Isak says weakly. He seriously doubts anything would’ve changed. Even’s lips look as full and inviting as it did when Isak was a 14-year-old. Absolutely nothing’s changed.

Even just raises his eyebrows in response, like he doesn’t believe Isak’s shit, either.

“So, maybe,” Isak tacks on, “maybe we should try. For science.”

Isak knows himself. He knows his attempts at letting Even go had been half-assed. He knows he’s not going to let this opportunity slip away from his fingers. He knows he’s going to regret that more than the imminent threat of heartbreak.

Even looks at him like he can’t quite believe what Isak’s said. Like Isak’s playing some kind of cruel trick on him.

“For science?” he repeats.

“For science,” Isak confirms, and this time, for the first significant time, he thinks, he’s the one who grabs Even’s face and pulls him into a kiss. He’s the one who initiates it.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Isak mumbles against Even’s lips when he doesn’t want to pull away, but needs the reprieve to catch his breath.

“Awful idea,” Even agrees. “Just awful.”

* * *

**FIVE YEARS AGO (Isak, 14 | Even, 16)**

**August 11, 2013**

SØNDAG | 15:13 

Isak got his first blowjob in the woods, by a river, completely out in the open. He was bared to the entire world, and he had held himself up against a tree while Even got on his knees for him. It was ineffable. He had absolutely zero words to describe what it felt like.

All Isak really knew was that, in the aftermath, he felt simultaneously dirty and pure when he pulled his boxers and jeans over his spent dick. Dirty because he had been laid open, completely vulnerable, where anyone could’ve seen him. Pure because, well, it had felt like Even was giving him an uncontaminated gesture of love.

Scared as he was, Isak stopped Even before he could get dressed. Instead, he gave Even’s shoulder a small shove, and when he didn’t get the message, bluntly said, “Lie down.”

Because he wasn’t stupid. He had seen Even stroke himself while he’d been blowing Isak. Maybe that had even been instrumental in causing Isak to come.

When Even lay down on the ground, Isak kissed him slowly, languidly, and wondered if he was tasting himself on Even’s tongue. The thought excited him more than he could've imagined and he deepened the kiss, tugging hard at Even’s hair and getting reckless with the hickeys he left on Even’s skin. He didn’t care. He didn’t want it to be as easy as hiding the marks with a buttoned-up plaid shirt. He wanted everyone to know that there was nothing in his world that compared to Even.

Even, who looked so goddamn beautiful, when Isak took him into his mouth. His techniques felt sloppy, like it lacked expertise, but Even didn’t complain—just pulled Isak’s hair so hard that he knew he probably looked debauched.

His only consolation was the fact that Even didn’t look any better. Whatever product he had put in his hair was gone and his lips looked swollen and his chest and neck were littered with enough hickeys that it, frankly, looked indecent. Like something Isak would’ve been a little disgusted by had it been on anyone else.

Being back in Even’s room was perhaps the strangest part of their day. Because Isak felt shy. And he wasn’t 100 percent certain, but it seemed like Even was tiptoeing around him, too.

They were both on Even’s bed, cuddling and quietly watching reruns of Seinfeld after dinner.

“I want to play a game,” Isak muttered, looking up at Even.

Even didn’t seem fazed. He just made an agreeable sound. “True or false?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Questions. Each player has to respond with a question. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Isak sighed like he was annoyed. “Supposed to answer with a question, loser.”

“Fuck off. Fine. What do you wanna ask me?”

“Why do you think I wanna ask you anything specific?”

Even shrugged. “Don’t you?”

Isak did, but he shrugged, too. “Maybe I just wanted to talk. Who have you liked?”

“What?”

“People you’ve liked, Even,” Isak clarified. “Crushes.”

“Oh. Um. Sonja, I guess.”

“And?”

“And you.”

Isak waited. When Even didn’t say anything, he nudged him. “Question.”

“Right. What about you?”

Isak shrugged, feeling a little nervous. “No one in particular. You haven’t liked any other boys?”

“No. You don’t like anyone?” Even sounded a little hurt.

Isak bit his lip, watching the TV for a few seconds to buy himself time. “I like you. Was that your first time giving a blowjob?”

“Yeah,” Even said. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that it?”

“No.”

Even waited.

Isak dug his nails into his palms until there were little crescent-shaped marks. “Do you ever think about sex? With me?”

“Yeah,” Even breathed out. “Do you?”

“Yeah. But I don’t—I don’t really know how it’s gonna work. Not like fucking Sonja, right? Or a girl? Period?”

Even nodded slowly. “Right. But there’s ways to learn. Is that something you want?”

“It’s all I’ve thought about. Since—since that night. Even more today. Wait, learn? What do you mean 'learn'?”

Isak watched Even’s cheeks turn a faint pink. “Uh, porn.”

It was so goddamn endearing that Isak couldn’t help but smile, the questions game forgotten. “You wanna watch porn with me?”

“Shut up. For educational purposes.”

“You wanna watch porn with me,” Isak said gleefully.

“Nah, maybe you’re too young.”

Isak gave Even a sharp shove. “Fuck you. I’m old enough to get _and_ give blowjobs,” he said proudly.

Even smiled, then leaned in to give Isak a loving peck on his lips.

“What was that for?”

Even just shrugged. “I like kissing you.”

Isak rolled his eyes, but mostly just felt pleased. “So. Porn?”

“God, when did you grow up and become such a horndog?" 

* * *

  **October 2, 2018**

FREDAG | 18:16 

They only stop kissing long enough for Even to make sure Mikael’s in his room before quietly treading past his room and into Even’s, leaving a trail of water in their wake.

Even gives him a change of clothes—sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a hoodie because Isak’s shivering—before changing into some dry clothes himself.

The few moments they take to change seem like the only time they’re not completely glued to each other. But it’s over before Isak knows what’s happening because Even’s crossing the little distance it takes to get to Isak and Isak willingly lets himself be pressed against the wall while their hands roam each others’ body, getting acclimated to the small changes.

Isak finds that Even’s as skinny and lanky as he’s always been, but there’s new definition in his body that Isak assumes must be a fairly recent development. 

They don’t do much more than kiss. At some point, Mikael knocks on Even’s door, asks if he wants to get dinner. Even says he’s not hungry. Two hours later, Mikael knocks again, asks if Even wants to join the pregame Mutta and Adam are having at their apartment. Even says he’s too tired. All the while, Isak stays silent, like he’s a mere fly on the wall.

When they hear the front door shut, they resume conversation in their regular speaking voices. Isak’s alarmed at how easy it is, despite the dark storm clouds weighing over their heads. But as long as they ignore it, just for one night, Isak supposes it doesn’t really matter.

He wakes up at 4 a.m., still tangled around Even, and realizes they fell asleep in the midst of smoking a joint, talking, and kissing. He sits up, blindly searches for his phone, then carefully extracts himself from Even’s grip.

To his relief, he finds that, despite all the other changes, Even’s still a sound sleeper.

When he stands up, he feels a little stupid. But mostly, he feels sad. Spending a night with Even had meant everything and more to him and it wasn’t supposed to. Not again. He tries to find the clothes he had worn, but when it’s too dark to locate anything, he deems it a lost cause and quietly slips out of the door.

He had gotten a lot of texts in the past few hours. Most are in the group chat he has with the boys, but many are concerned ones from Jonas, and it takes him a moment to realize why.

Right. The boys all know he doesn’t stay over at anyone’s place after he’s hooked up with them. Jonas is wondering if he’s in some kind of trouble. 

Isak’s almost back at his apartment when he texts Jonas back; it’s not like he’s up, anyway.

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Sorry I was out
> 
> Just fell asleep

**

**October 3, 2018**

LØRDAG | 11:34    

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Hi
> 
> I didn’t realize you had left
> 
> Wish you had stayed
> 
> Did I snore too much?

LØRDAG | 14:02  

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Isak?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> staying in theme with how s3 goes down, the next two chapters are probably gonna be pretty angsty  
> but chapter 10 is definitely gonna make up for it, so woo-hoo!


	8. it came upon a midnight clear

**October 3, 2018**

LØRDAG | 16:13 

“Eskild, your robe!”

Isak doesn’t screech, but he comes close. He holds a hand in front of his eyes for a few seconds, shielding himself from everything that’s underneath Eskild’s open robe. Which is everything.

“Don’t be dramatic, Isak, it’s not like you haven’t seen a man’s body before.” Eskild huffs, but when Isak drops his hand and chances a glance, he’s relieved to see that Eskild’s robe is tied. A little loosely, Isak thinks, but he’ll take what he gets.

“I didn’t have to see yours,” Isak mutters, following Eskild into the kitchen. “Is that how you’re greeting people now?”

“Thought you were someone else.”

“You invited someone over to hook up with when you knew I was coming over?”

Eskild waves his hand dismissively. “You’re never on time. Besides, you have to work on resolving this jealousy issue you have about the attention I give other people, Isak. It’s very unhealthy.”

Isak rolls his eyes and rummages through the fridge like he still shares it with Linn, Eskild, and Noora. Noora’s food is neatly labeled—fish cakes, vegetables, cold brew, milk—but Eskild and Linn’s have coagulated into one messy blob of takeout containers and frozen pizzas. He can't really judge; there's probably a hole where his stomach used to be, thanks to the crap he eats. Isak grabs a Fanta that’s half-empty and takes a sip. The carbonation is almost completely gone.

“How old is this?” he asks, making a face. “Wait, is this mine? Did I buy this? Eskild, you need to clean out your fridge. This is almost a whole fucking year old.”

“Where was this sense of ‘cleanliness is godliness’ when you were living here and  _I_ was nagging you to clean, hmm?” Eskild asks.

Isak rolls his eyes, but feels a surge of affection. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this brotherly sparring. Living with the boys is great and comes with its own set of quirks, but there are moments when he misses Eskild’s good-natured badgering and prying.

“So, did you come all the way here to raid our fridge and berate me for not cleaning enough?” Eskild says, and though he sounds miffed, Isak knows it’s an act.

“Just thought I’d come see you.” Isak shrugs, pulling himself up to sit on the counter.

Eskild narrows his eyes. “You’re having boy troubles.”

“Wha—no, I’m not, I just wanted to see you,” Isak protests.

“Bullshit.”

“What, I need to have boy troubles to come see you?”

“You do when you’ve got a hickey the size of Russia on your neck.” Eskild pokes at his neck and Isak jumps. He hadn’t even realized there had been a hickey. But when he thinks back to the hours he spent with Even, he remembers fervor and want and he supposes Even’s skin isn’t exactly untainted, either.

“Not to mention I’ve seen you wear exactly five sweatshirts in the three years I’ve known you, and that’s not one of them,” Eskild continues.

Isak feels his face grow warm. Right. He’s still wearing Even’s clothes. But Eskild doesn’t need to know that. “Maybe I went shopping,” he says defensively.

“Be reasonable, Isak. You couldn’t pick that out for yourself in your wildest dreams. It doesn’t even have some unnecessarily expensive sports brand's logo on it. So?” Eskild prompts. “Who is it?”

“Nothing. No one.”

Eskild raises his eyebrows. “Isak, someone’s giving you hickeys like he doesn’t want anyone else to see you naked ever and you haven’t even tried to hide it, so I’m gonna assume you don’t really want to see anyone else naked ever, either.” Eskild looks thoughtful. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I guess that’s why you overreacted when you saw me without the robe.”

“Or _maybe_ I overreacted because I just didn’t wanna see you naked.”

Eskild waves his hand again, like he doesn’t have the patience to deal with Isak’s bullshit, and pulls out of his phone. “If you’re going to talk to your guru, you better start now, because your guru’s been on a sexual cleanse for the past week and he’s ready to binge.”

“Does my guru have to refer to himself in the third person?”

Eskild shoots him a glare, then starts typing on his phone pointedly. “Texting Erik right now.”

Isak doesn’t doubt it, so he sighs. Gives in. “It’s, uh—it’s Even.”

Eskild looks up from his phone, confused. “Even? Who the fuck is—” Then, something in his expression changes and he looks at Isak. Isak knows he knows. “Oh. Even.”

“Yep. Even.”

* * *

  **THREE YEARS AGO**

**February 12, 2015**

TORSDAG | 1:02 

At first, Isak couldn’t really believe his luck. He was in a gay bar, alone and unsure and a fucking mess, but something had settled in his chest.

Maybe it was just the fact that he didn’t see anyone he knew. From Nissen or Bakka or anywhere else. Here, he was just another person and no one was going to give him shit for sucking dick in his spare time. Maybe it was the respite he was getting from his mamma, who had flushed her pills down the toilet with no rhyme or reason after learning about his papa’s new girlfriend. Maybe it was just the warm, inviting promise of alcohol and the company of strangers.

Isak sat at the bar and tried not to look out of place. The key was confidence. The bartender eyed him a little warily, but approached him nonetheless.

“What can I get you?”

“Uh, a Tuborg,” Isak said without really meeting the man’s gaze. Instead, he lowered his snapback over his head, squirming on the bar stool.  

“How old are you?”

“18.”

“Can I see some ID?”

“Um. Sure.”

Isak was starting to panic. His ID definitely didn’t say he was 18. He wasn’t even 16 yet. But he reached into his wallet, pretending to retrieve his ID. He was aware of the people approaching the bar, hoping to order drinks. He took advantage of the situation and made some frustrated noises under his breath. “Sorry, I know it’s in here somewhere, just trying to find—”

“It’s fine, forget it,” the bartender interrupted. “One Tuborg coming up.”

He wasn’t sure how many beers he’d thrown back, but he knew it was getting late when the people around the bar started dispersing and he felt someone else sidle up next to him.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Isak tried to wave his pint glass in the man’s face, but frowned when he realized it was empty. Huh. He could’ve sworn he had just gotten that.

The man laughed. “A drink it is.”

There was another beer in front of him before Isak could even process what was happening.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Isak.”

“Isak. I’m Daniel.”

Daniel remarked on his age, how young he looked, and Isak just nodded along, barely paying attention to the conversation. Maybe in another universe, Isak might’ve found Daniel’s advances flattering, maybe even flushed under the attention he was getting from a 20-something guy. In this universe, though, Isak felt his vision start to get blurry and he wasn’t sure how he ended up shoved up against a bathroom stall, someone kissing him hard and rough, hands everywhere.

Not someone.

Damien, his mind supplied.

No, that wasn’t right.

Devon? Darren?

Fuck it, he didn’t know.

“Wait, wait.” The guy didn’t listen, but Isak pushed at his chest as hard as he could until he did. “It’s February 12.”

Damien/Devon/Darren seemed confused. “OK?”

“It’s February 12,” Isak repeated.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Isak didn’t know. But his feet were carrying him away from the bathroom and he was pulling up a contact he hadn’t so much as glanced at in a month. More than a month. A month and 16 days. It felt a little bit like he was claiming some sort of reward for his steadfast resolve. The phone rang and Isak waited. His head was spinning, but this, this was the most sobering thing he could think of.

“Hello?”

Isak wanted to faint.

Even. Even’s voice. It was really Even.

“Isak? Are you there?” Isak heard his voice become softer, more unsure, like Even thought Isak had butt-dialed him or something. Fucking idiot.

“You’re my reward,” Isak blurted out.

There was a beat, then it seemed like Even had moved someplace quiet. _“What?”_

“My reward,” Isak repeated.

“I—OK. Where are you?”

“At a bar.”

“You’re 15. How did you get into a bar?”

“I’ll be 16 soon.”

“Who are you with?”

Then, Isak remembered his name. “Daniel!”

“Who’s Daniel?”

“He kissed me in the bathroom.”

“You called me to tell me that you kissed a guy?”

“What? No.” Isak didn’t really remember why he called Even. It felt like a waste of his steadfast resolve. Was it even a steadfast resolve if he’d given in the minute he’d gotten drunk?

“OK.” Even paused. “Listen, I have to go—”

“No, wait, I called you! I was gonna tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

For the life of him, Isak couldn’t remember. He knew it was something important. He knew he wouldn’t have called Even for just any reason.

“Isak?”

“My mamma flushed her pills down the toilet. She’s—she’s fucking crazy, Even. Batshit crazy. Abso-fucking-lutely insane.”

That wasn’t it. That wasn’t what he’d wanted to tell Even, but there was a lot he had wanted to tell Even and not been able to and it felt nice to tell him again, to say his name.

“Isak, I have to go.”

“I—fuck, wait, no, I wanted to tell you something.”

Even sighed. “Isak.”

Isak racked his brain in an effort to remember. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. It had felt so important. It _was_ important. He was sure of it. He felt his eyes sting and his cheeks dampen. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t remember what it was. Do you hate me?”

“Isak, no. You should probably go back home. Is there anyone who can take—”

“I’m not going home.” Isak shook his head to himself. There was no fucking way he was going home. He couldn’t take another second of that, let alone another day or week or month or year.

“Isak, please just—”

“Are you happy?” Isak interrupted.

“What?”

“True or false, Even. Are you happy?” It wasn’t a taunt; Isak genuinely wanted to know. And it wasn’t until he was waiting for Even’s answer that he realized how desperately he needed Even to say “true.”

Only, he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Isak, I have to go. I hope you get home safely.”

And then, there was nothing. He managed to keep his composure long enough to order another beer. But he didn’t even realize he was openly crying like an idiot in front of drunk, happy strangers until he felt someone take the beer out of his hands, put their arm around his shoulder, and lead him outside.

“Are you—are you Isak?” the stranger asked him carefully.

Isak nodded and let himself fall on his ass. A laugh escaped his lips. It was almost funny. The stranger tried to pull him to his feet, but Isak got about halfway before falling down again.

“Fuck, sorry, I can’t—tired,” he mumbled, his face in his hands. The world around him was spinning; he had no energy left.

“Isak. Isak, listen to me.” The stranger had knelt down in front of him. He had kind, concerned eyes. It almost reminded him of Even. _Even._ And he remembered.

“You have to call Even,” Isak said, interrupting whatever the stranger had been about to say and grabbed him by the front of his jacket. “I remembered. I remembered what I wanted to say to him.”

“Isak, listen. I’m Eskild. You know Noora?”

Isak didn’t respond. He needed to call Even. Right then.

“Noora Amalie Sætre?” the stranger tacked on. “Blonde hair, wears red lipstick a lot? She goes to Nissen, too.”

Isak nodded. He knew who Noora was. But who gave a flying fuck about Noora? He needed Even.

“I’m her roommate. Eskild. Hi. Now, can you stand for me, please?” Eskild tried to help him up again, but to no avail. Falling on his ass on concrete again and again registered as dull pain somewhere in the back of his mind.

“Need to call Even,” Isak slurred. “It’s his birthday. I forgot to wish him happy birthday. He's 17. Need to wish him."

“OK. How about we get you home, then call your boyfriend?”

Isak shook his head. “Don’t wanna go home. Can’t go home. Please don’t make me go home.”

“OK, OK, it’s OK, I won’t.” Eskild was typing something on his phone, then he put his arms around Isak’s shoulder. “OK, how about this? Noora’s staying with William tonight, so we’ve got a room free. I’ll sleep there and you can take my room. OK?”

Isak nodded. “Call Even.”

“After we get home.”

Isak shook his head. “No, now. Here. Please.” He tossed his phone at Eskild.

“Your passcode?”

“2121.”

Isak watched Eskild go through his contacts, then put his phone to his ear. “He’s not picking up,” Eskild said and Isak felt pain grip his heart.

“Try again,” he insisted.

Isak wasn’t sure how many times Eskild tried. All he knew was that at some point, his butt wasn’t on the cold, hard pavement anymore. He was on a soft bed and someone had pulled a blanket over him.

When Isak awoke the next morning, it was with a pounding headache to texts from his mamma. No one else.

That was that. That was the definite end of him and Even.

* * *

  **October 3, 2018**

LØRDAG | 20:23 

Isak knows why he sought Eskild out that afternoon in the aftermath of everything that had happened with Even.

Eskild always told him what he knew, but didn’t want to accept. Except, coming from Eskild, Isak gave the advice more consideration. More weight.

“Don’t be a dick and ghost him,” Eskild had said. “Because I know you and I know you’re not a dick who ghosts people.”

Isak had probably looked skeptical because Eskild amended his words. “OK, fine, maybe you ghost some people, but you’re not the dick who ghosts people you care about. Or cared about. Be honest with him.”

 

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Hey
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Snored that much, huh?

Isak smiles a little to himself and second-guesses Eskild’s advice. It’s _Even._ His heart doesn’t know how to say no to Even. Frankly, neither does any other part of him. And yet, he forces himself to.

 

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> I’m sorry
> 
> I think things moved too fast

He never gets a response. That’s just as well. Another day, another ending. A part of him can’t help but wish he hadn’t followed Eskild’s advice, after all.

**

**October 20, 2018**

TORSDAG | 22:13 

Isak’s in the kitchen, heaps of papers and notebooks beside him. Magnus and Mahdi are in the living room, playing FIFA, and Isak tries his hardest to ignore their cheers and screams, only they’re so fucking loud that he can’t quite stand it.

He wonders if the sounds they’re making is just pronounced by the fact that he doesn’t know when he last had a good night’s sleep. Well, that’s not true. He knows damn well when he slept well last. He just doesn’t know why his body’s designed to stop functioning entirely when something significant and Even-shaped explodes in his life.

Isak sighs and rubs his eyes. He regrets not spending more time studying with Sana because this exam tomorrow is going to thoroughly destroy his ass. But Sana had been back at home for a week and Isak couldn’t handle the prospect of accidentally running into Even again. As it was, he’d stayed away from KB for nearly three weeks because he didn’t know which one Even worked at. And he missed the coffee at KB, OK? Espresso House just wasn’t his first pick, and neither was the filth water he tried making at their apartment.

Their front door opens and closes and Isak looks up, giving Jonas a small nod in greeting before resuming studying.

“Halla,” Jonas says.

“Halla.” Isak doesn’t look up from his book until he realizes Jonas is hovering. “What’s up?”

Jonas is looking at him with a mixture of suspicion and disbelief and Isak feels himself wither a little under his gaze.

“What?” Isak asks defensively. He’s sure he doesn’t have a hickey the size of Russia on his neck this time around.

“I was covering an event for the Register.” Jonas is still looking at him suspiciously, downturned mouth and thick furrowed eyebrows.

“OK? That’s nice? Listen, I have a lot to study and—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jonas interrupts.

“What, that I have an exam tomorrow that’s pretty much worth my entire life? OK, Jonas, I have an exam that’s—”

“That you knew Even.”

Isak stops short.

Jonas raises his eyebrows. “I was invited to cover his second art show. I saw it.”

Right. Fuck. After everything that had happened, Isak hadn’t actually thought Even would include his picture for his portrait series. Maybe he really had been that desperate for a model.

Isak shrugs. “I just—you know, we started talking after the whole thing where he said he didn’t wanna do the interview, then I convinced him to do it, then I just did it as a favor to him. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Jonas looks confused. “What? I’m talking about his show.”

“Yeah, so am I.” Isak’s confused, too. “The picture of me."

“Picture?”

Isak’s starting to get frustrated. Jonas is wasting valuable time that he could be spending learning about pathogens. “Yeah? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You don’t know.” Jonas pauses, then pulls up a chair and sits down next to him, lowering his voice so Mahdi and Magnus aren’t privy to their conversation. “How long have you known Even?”

Isak flounders because Jonas sounds like he already knows the answer.

“Isak, it’s me. You can tell me. If you want,” Jonas adds. “Because either way, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“I’ve known him since I was 12,” Isak admits quietly.

Something in Jonas’ expression clears, but he looks like he’s waiting for more. “Um, he was my, uh—he was my best friend for a while, I guess.”

Jonas nods, but Isak can tell he knows that isn’t the entire story.

“What did you wanna tell me?” Isak asks because his history with Even definitely isn’t something he has time to get into.

“His show was called ‘the boy who couldn’t hold his breath under water.’”

Isak frowns. “He named his show after that picture of me?”

Jonas shakes his head. “He named his show after a whole series about you."

"Series?" 

"Yeah, it was called, um," Jonas trails off, like he's struggling to remember. "Oh! '21:21.'" 

Isak absorbs the information. Doesn’t really know what it means. Series? Even had been unsatisfied by majority of the pictures he’d taken of Isak that day. To Isak’s knowledge, there had been two, maybe three good ones—not enough to comprise an entire series.

“Inside jokes?” Jonas asks.

Isak nods absently. “How many—how many pictures were there?”

“In the series?”

“Yeah.”

“Fifteen to twenty, I think. I don’t know. A whole portion of the gallery was sectioned off for it.”

Isak feels like he already knows the answer, but he still asks. “What kind of pictures?”

“Well, there was the one with you coming out of the water, but the others were different.”

“Different how?”

Jonas shrugs. “Looked like it was shot with a disposable camera or something to that effect. Definitely couldn't have been a DSLR.”

“But what were the pictures?”

Jonas looks at him for a long moment. “Look, I don’t know the history between you guys or anything, but I think you should see it," Jonas says, his voice quiet. "Seems like he wanted you to.”

**

**October 20, 2018**

FREDAG | 02:29 

Isak doesn’t know what prompts him to do it. He assumes it's because his Molecular Biology of Viruses class has killed every last one of his brain cells.

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Are you awake?

The response is so immediate that it’s almost concerning.

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Yeah
> 
> Hi
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Did I wake you?
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> I was up
> 
> Why are you up so late?
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Studying
> 
> You?
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Couldn’t sleep

Isak considers how to broach the topic, but ultimately decides there’s no point in skirting around it.

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> My best friend was at your show tonight
> 
> Jonas
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> I know
> 
> I saw him
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Why?
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Couldn’t exactly turn off my eyes  
> 
> He was there and I happened to see him
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> You know what I’m asking

Even doesn’t respond for several minutes and Isak wonders if he’s gone to sleep.

3:05  

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Will you meet me at the gallery?
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> Right now?
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Doesn’t have to be now
> 
> It’s late
> 
> I know you probably have class tomorrow

He has an _exam_ tomorrow. But fuck it. He’s not going to learn anything much more than what he already knows in the next two hours. 

> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> I can meet you at the gallery now
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> I’ll bring coffee
> 
> **Isak Valtersen**
> 
> ??
> 
> Everything’s closed??
> 
> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> That's what you think

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is going to heavily feature flashbacks that unravel their entire story and i'll most likely need a little more than a day to complete it so bear with me! ♥


	9. visions of gideon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for mentions of attempted suicide; there aren't graphic details about the attempt, but i thought i'd give a heads up just in case 
> 
> everything in this chapter follows a chronological order but in flashbacks so dates and stuff shouldn't be too confusing :)
> 
> also, for the purposes of this verse, isak didn't meet the boys until uni

**October 20, 2018**

FREDAG | 03:31 

Even’s nervous. Isak doesn’t register anything other than the fact that his face is everywhere. He is everywhere.

Framed pictures hang on the walls around him with captions underneath and Isak’s overcome by it all.

Even’s waiting, but Isak feels like there's quicksand underneath his feet, swallowing him into the floor. He wants to, but can’t bring himself to shuffle the few feet it takes to get a closer look at the pictures.

“I don’t know where to start,” Isak says honestly.

Even looks almost wistful when he smiles. “Nothing like starting at the beginning.”

* * *

  **SEVEN YEARS AGO (Isak, 12 | Even, 14)**

**December 25, 2011**

TIRSDAG | 19:02 

i: _the night we met_

Isak wished he could spend Christmas quite literally anywhere else other than at his new neighbor’s house. He would’ve even stayed home alone, if it weren’t for the fact that Mrs. Bech Næsheim had insisted that Isak couldn’t be by himself on Christmas, which, in his opinion, was an overreaction. He was twelve, not two.

Besides, he didn’t really know what to make of the blonde-haired boy—Even—other than the fact that he was absurdly tall. Maybe Isak would be even taller once his own growth spurt hit.

He sat a little rigidly on the couch and tried not to pay attention to the little squabble Even and his mom were having in the kitchen. Great, he was _that_ fucking kid in this scenario, the kid that other kids only talked to because of their parents’ unjust and forceful exertion of authority.

Isak rolled his eyes to himself, and gave Even a slightly unimpressed look when he approached, one he hoped would convey a silent, “I don’t want to do this any more than you do, so don’t be a shithead to me because I will be a shithead right back.”

“Wow, aren’t you the joyous picture of Christmas?” Even muttered under his breath.

“My mamma’s not well. Do you want me to throw a party?” Isak retorted before whipping his head around to ensure Even’s mom hadn’t heard.

He felt a little satisfied when Even’s face fell and he looked embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Isak shrugged, then poked his pinky through a hole in the Christmas sweater Mrs. Bech Næsheim had given him for the festivities. It was a size too big, decked with reindeers, and looked absolutely horrendous.

“You look better in the sweater than I do,” Even commented after a few moments of silence.

Isak recognized it as a peace offering, but he needed one last shot to get the snark out of his system for the night. “No doubt.”

Even laughed, and Isak looked up in surprise. It was the kind of thing that would’ve earned him a punch or two from Elias, and here was a boy who was two years older than him, laughing. Without any hint of cruelty.

“Aw, don’t you two look cute,” Even’s mom commented, then motioned at the two of them. “Come on, get closer, get closer.”

The urgency behind her voice pressured Isak to do as he was told. “What’s happening?” he muttered, making sure only Even could hear.

Even gave a small groan in response. “She’s not used to having guests.”

Even’s mom snapped a picture of Isak and Even sitting side-by-side, both donning ugly sweaters and a general air of awkward discomfort.

* * *

  **FIVE YEARS AGO (Isak, 14 | Even, 16)**

**August 19, 2013**

LØRDAG | 17:32 

ii: _summer’s end_

Summer was coming to an end and Isak felt strangely empty.

His summers used to wrap up differently. A year ago, Isak’s parents were still together. He wasn’t being bombarded with relentless texts and phone calls from his dad, and his mom hadn’t been admitted into a psychiatric ward indefinitely. But a year ago, he wasn’t sleeping with and waking up tangled around Even every day. A year ago, he wasn’t at a wedding with Even and his parents.

Isak didn’t know why Sonja wasn’t there. Camilla was one of Even’s cousins, one Even was actually close to. Surely, she had given him the option to bring Sonja and Isak. But he didn’t question it; he just wanted to bask in the reality of it, that it was him by Even’s side rather than Sonja.

Of course, the reality he’d chosen to seek solace in was also impermanent. Come Monday, Sonja would be by Even’s side again at Bakka, stealing kisses by lockers, in classrooms, behind trees, while Isak would be 2.4 kilometers away at Nissen. Come Monday, he wouldn’t be able to dodge Sara by making excuses about how he had to go see his mamma.

The end of summer was the worst.

“Dance?” Even’s voice broke him out of his dejected reverie.

Even had gotten to his feet, a camera still slung around his neck instead of a tie, and a hand extended toward Isak.

“Hell no.”

“Come on.” Even tugged on Isak’s hand, but Isak stayed rooted to his seat.

People danced around them—Even’s _parents_ were dancing.

“Are you scared? About what people will think?” Even leaned down a little to lower his voice, his eyes almost sparkling with mirth.

Isak felt his mouth run dry, but he didn’t say anything. Yes, he was scared. It was probably suspicious enough that Isak kept himself glued to Even’s side the entire time they were home; he really didn’t need to give Even’s parents any more ammunition by slow dancing with their son. He shook his head in response, hating himself a little for the way Even’s smile faltered a bit.

Only, it was back before Isak could blink away the image and Even was grinning from ear to ear as soon as he had dropped Isak’s hand. “Come with me.”

Even pushed past the throng of people, and Isak took that as a sign that they weren’t going to be dancing. Even looked around, and seemed satisfied to see Isak following him. He picked up his pace and Isak idly wondered if Even had had another growth spurt.

They walked past a few kids playing outside to a gazebo. Isak immediately leaned against the railing, but before he could get too comfortable, Even was tugging on his hand again. “No, you don’t,” he said and after one firm pull, Isak found himself stupidly breathless and pressed against Even’s chest.

“If we’re not dancing in there, we’re dancing out here,” Even said, grinning.

Isak groaned. He should’ve known Even would try to pull something like this. “Why do we need to dance at all? Why can’t we, like, shotgun beers and act like idiots like other dudes our age?”

“Shotgun beers and act like idiots? Like other dudes our age?” Even repeated, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. “Jesus, what’s with the hypermasculinity?”

Isak stepped back, a wave of embarrassment washing over him, and leaned against the railing again. “Nothing.”

“Isak.” And then Even was in his space again, one hand on Isak’s chin, gently coaxing him to meet Even’s gaze. Isak didn’t. “Come on, talk to me.”

Isak shook his head and tried to shrug off Even’s hold on him. Even seemed to guess Isak wasn’t going to budge because his hands were suddenly gone and when Isak looked up, Even’s eyebrows were raised.

“What?” Isak asked warily. He knew that look on Even’s face. Nothing good ever really came out of it.

“I’m gonna give you an ultimatum.”

Isak rolled his eyes. “Lovely.”

Even gently smacked the back of his head. “You’re gonna dance or you’re gonna tell me what’s bothering you.”

Isak gave him the most unimpressed look he could manage. “Sounds like you’re winning either way, which isn’t really fair,” he pointed out.

Even shrugged. “It’s an ultimatum. If it was fair, the choice would be easy and no one would break a sweat about their decision. But obviously, that’s not the point of an ultimatum.”

“Why are you so ridiculous?”

“Why are you so hot?”

Isak didn’t know for sure, but he felt like he was gaping. “Why are you so infuriating?” Isak returned, missing every beat imaginable.

Even smirked, like had gotten the effect he wanted—and yeah, of course he had. “It’s a nice suit.”

He gave Isak a long look, from head to toe, and Isak felt a lot more vulnerable than he had that time he and Even had gone skinny-dipping and Even had seen properly naked. Because now, now Even wasn’t just looking at him with lust. He looked like he was yearning for something, and Isak wasn’t entirely sure what. “So, what will it be?”

Isak rolled his eyes, but when Even held his hand, he let himself be pulled close again. He didn’t know what they were doing. There wasn’t any music playing in the background, and Isak doubted that their movements could really be considered dancing. After a minute or two of being pressed close together, Isak kissed Even, hoping to tell him everything in the kiss that he couldn’t actually say.

That he didn’t want to care what people thought. That he wished summer didn’t end. That he wanted to spend every moment with Even, sleeping, kissing, fighting, anything, everything.

When they broke apart, Even smiled at him like he adored every little thing about Isak, and god, Isak desperately wanted that to be true.

Before Isak could even process what was happening, Even had raised his camera to his eyes and snapped a picture. Isak wondered if the resulting picture showed how utterly in love he was with the boy standing in front of him. He hoped it did. Because there was no way he was ever going to be able to tell Even that in so many words.

* * *

**August 21, 2013**

MANDAG | 04:02 

iii: _best buds_

Isak didn’t really know how it happened. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was feeling antsy about going back to school—a new school.

Sure, practically everyone he knew from Grefsen was going to attend Nissen, including Sara and Elias, but that wasn’t a comforting thought. He almost wished he could get a fresh start, someplace new, where people weren’t imposing their preconceived notions of who he was supposed to be on him. Somewhere like Bakka, where the only people he knew were Even and his friends, who, all things considered, were good people.

He tossed and turned in Even’s bed, only feeling guilty when he felt Even stir.

“Can’t sleep?” Even muttered, pressing his nose into Isak’s shoulder.

At this point, attempting sleep was probably futile.

His alarm was going to ring in an hour and a half so he could sneak back into the Bech Næsheims’ guest room before Even’s mother woke up and found Isak shacking up with her son. And really, once that cat was out of the bag, Isak doubted Even’s parents would have a tough time putting two and two together.

As it was, they weren’t the subtlest at hiding what they were doing. Which, Isak didn’t really have a name for what they did.

Sonja and Even were dating. By some unfortunate technicality, he was dating Sara, too. But Isak and Even? Maybe they would have to invent a term themselves.

“Thinking,” Isak replied, turning to face Even.

“About what?” Even asked around a yawn. Isak tried to stop the sight from doing anything stupid to his heart. He wasn’t entirely successful.

“What would you call this?”

“I’d call it, ‘Your tossing and turning woke me up at an ungodly hour.’” Even laughed, his voice still thick from sleep, and Isak felt it on his neck.

Isak rolled his eyes, but wrapped his arm around Even and threaded his fingers through Even’s hair.

“You trying to get me to sleep again? What are you gonna do next, sing me a lullaby?”

Isak huffed and tried to roll over, but Even’s grip around Isak tightened, holding him in place. Isak could tell Even’s eyes were open now. “What do you mean ‘this’?”

“Sleep, dumbass.”

“I will if you do.”

“Can’t.”

“Neither am I, then.”

“That’s stupid.”

“So is your face, but I’m very fond of it.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Isak groaned.

Even laughed and pressed a kiss to Isak’s cheek. “So? What’s ‘this’?”

“Us, I guess.” Isak aimed to be as casual as he could. But he felt stupid once the words were out of his mouth, so he rushed to defend it. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking. Like, that, you know, people call what you and Sonja do and what Sara and I do dating, but what would people call what you and I do?”

“Does it need a label?”

“No. Not necessarily. But I like it when things are labeled.” Isak sat up to turn on the lamp beside Even’s bed, feeling bolstered by a sudden rush of excitement. “How else would you know what’s what, you know? Why do we know what everything in the human anatomy is called? Because someone labeled it once upon a time. Why do we know how to distinguish things from other things that are similar? Why do we know Mars and Jupiter fall under the same category of being planets, but that they’re also vastly different? Because people gave it names and specified its individual characteristics. Why do we all, based on the language we share, have a mutual understanding of the meaning that’s assigned to words? Because it’s all labeled in specific terms.”

Even looked amused. “Did you smoke my jay?”

“What? No. Wouldn’t I sleep better if I had?”

“Fair.”

“I’m just saying I think labels are useful. Because, like, the whole idea of people rejecting labels is kind of overrated, especially when it involves other people. Because then you’re just not communicating and confused and playing guessing games your entire life.”

Even sat up, resting his head on his hand. He seemed thoughtful. “OK. What would you label this then?”

“I could’ve sworn that’s what I asked you five minutes ago.”

“You did,” Even conceded. “But then you went on this passionate rant, so I’m guessing you’ve given this a bit of thought.”

Isak had given this a lot of thought. But in almost every scenario, Even had been the one to define what they were to him. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he knew inwardly that Sara couldn’t, in any of his parallel universes, hold a candle to Even. But it wasn’t as easy for Even. He knew Even cared about him, but Even also cared for Sonja in no uncertain terms.

“So?” Even asked quietly.

Isak ran a hand through his hair, then met Even’s gaze, giving him a tight-lipped smile that felt insincere to himself. “We’re buds. Best buds.”

Something in Even’s expression changed; he almost looked disappointed by the answer. “Best buds, huh?”

Isak gave a small shrug. “What would you call it?”

“Best buds who like each other a hell of a lot.”

“Sounds about right.” Isak gave him a small smile. He could make his peace with that. Maybe one day, when they got older, they could call it what it was. “Sorry I woke you.”

Even began peppering kisses along Isak’s jaw. “Don’t care. This is better.”

Isak tugged on Even’s hair a little tighter when he felt Even bite at a spot on his neck that he was certain was already bruised and purple from a day ago. “Don’t want summer to end.”

“You wanna just skip school and do this for the rest of the year? Wait for next summer to come? Can we do that?”

“We can do that.”

They certainly couldn’t do that, but Isak held on to the possibility that they could, just for the one hour they had before they fell into the routine of being back at school and juggling responsibilities that had, for the past two months, faded into the background with the luxurious inertia of summer.

Isak wasn’t entirely sure when they both rid themselves of their clothes, but there was nothing separating them but their underwear, and he felt a pull of attraction and what he thought could only be the purest, most unadulterated form of love for the boy beneath him.

“You want to?” Even asked, his voice soft and breathless.

“I want to.”

His first time having sex was maybe one of the most awkward things he’d experienced in his life. They both giggled like giddy idiots and tried to shut each other up when either of them got too loud and at first, everything hurt and Isak was sure his knuckles were turning white from how hard he was clutching the sheets. But then, the realization hit that Even was inside him, that Isak was having sex for the first time, and that it was, by some insane miracle, with the person he would give up his heart for.

* * *

**September 6, 2013**

TIRSDAG | 15:06 

iv: _dandelions in the playground_

The last straw was when Sara’s otherwise pettiness veered toward targeting Vilde's home life. That wasn’t just petty; that was downright cruel.

At that point, Isak didn’t really have any qualms about breaking up with Sara over Messenger. She had wondered if he was cheating on her, if there was someone else, and Isak called the assumptions baseless. Two weeks ago, the assumptions would’ve been confirmed with one glance at his neck, but as shitty luck would have it, Even seemed to be withdrawing from him and Sonja was everywhere.

Eventually, Isak decided to move back into his own house. He didn’t exactly have his pappa’s permission, but honestly, his father had as good as given up the right to be authoritative when he left Isak’s mamma. Because he hadn’t just left her, he had left Isak alone to pick up the broken glass with his bare hands. Still, Even’s mother didn’t need to know that. As far as she knew, Isak’s father was sending him money for food and supplies and Isak was old enough to handle living alone until his mamma returned.

All of that, coupled with the fact that Isak was in Nissen and Even was at Bakka, meant Isak saw Even less and less. It wasn’t really for lack of trying. They texted, but Even’s responses took longer and longer. The last thing Isak had sent him—a meme—went unanswered, and there had been nothing for the past few days.

Isak tried not to let it hurt. Tried not to dwell on the fact that the last significant thing that had happened between them was sex. For the first time.

Except, that was the only thing Isak could think about.

Nissen was at least more bearable than he thought. In the aftermath of his breakup with Sara, he found himself being kinder to Vilde. She was going through a lot and he’d been dating the mini devil incarnate who was responsible for at least a quarter of her problems, even if it was mostly russ-related drama.

Only, his kindness ended up biting him in the ass when he got roped into attending kosegruppa meetings. The plus side, he supposed, was the girls, who were a breath of fresh air from his usual company. 

Chris eye-fucked him every chance she got, Vilde started nagging him about hosting pregames when she learned he had an entire house to himself, Noora was, frankly, a little intimidating, Sana was just downright scary, and Eva could give Even a run for his money with how tactile she got when she had too much wine. He liked them.

Still, he missed Even.

At the end of the day, Isak found himself waging a war with his locker—a war he had consistently lost ever since he got to this school—when he heard a familiar voice.

“Halla.”

Isak glanced up.

Even looked tired; there were bags under his eyes, his hair wasn’t styled in its usual quiff, and even though he was smiling, it seemed pained. Isak’s heart hurt and he wasn’t sure if it was because Even looked terrible or because the rejection and emptiness he’d been carrying around for the past few days had returned in full-force and was standing in front of him.

“Hi,” Isak muttered, turning his attention back to his locker.

“Want some help with that?”

“I got it.” He didn’t. “Got out of school early?”

“Didn’t go.”

Isak looked over then. “Not feeling well?”

Even gave a small shrug. “I guess. I was just taking a few pictures nearby.”

The conversation was frustrating and stilted. Isak didn’t know what was wrong, didn’t know if he had done something wrong. Maybe Even just regretted having sex. Worse, maybe it had been bad. Isak swallowed and punched his locker a little harder, ignoring the jolt of pain that went down his arm. He raised his fist to punch it again, but before it could connect with the metal, Even’s hand was wrapped around his wrist.

“Stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Isak glared at him, then realizing they weren’t standing very far apart and that Even was still holding on to his wrist, he tried to wrench his arm away from Even’s grasp. “I’m at school,” he muttered.

Even dropped his hand like he’d been burned and Isak felt an ache in his stomach.

“Isak!”

Vilde’s voice had honestly never sounded more pleasing to his ears. “Thank god you’re still here. I was thinking we could—oh, hi. Who’s this?” Vilde was looking at Even like her eyes were milliseconds away from sprouting hearts.

“Vilde, Even. Even, Vilde,” Isak grumbled, watching them greet each other with mild annoyance.

“Nice to meet you. Maybe you can join the pregame at Isak’s tonight,” Vilde was saying brightly.

“Wait, what? No. I told you I’m not hosting the pregame.”

“Isak, please. You don’t even have to do anything. Chris knows someone, so she can get us the alcohol, and the girls have agreed to stay back after it’s over and help you clean up. Come on, it’s a good way for everyone to get together and have a nice time. Do you want to stand in the way of that?” Vilde raised her eyebrows judgmentally.

“Yeah, Isak, do you want to stand in the way of people having a nice time?” Even piped up, nudging him gently.

Fucking traitor.

Isak sighed. “Fine. But I am not helping clean up; you create the mess, you clean it up.”

Vilde ignored him in favor of giving him a hug. “You should come, too,” she said to Even. Even looked amused, but nodded, and Vilde, sufficiently satisfied by their interaction, walked away.

Isak scowled at Even.

“Here, let me,” Even said, giving Isak’s locker one punch before it sprang open.

Isak really hated his locker. But he retrieved some of his textbooks before slamming it shut again. He wished he had taken his time with it because now, he didn’t really know what to say to Even. Luckily, Even initiated.

“Want to go to the playground?”

**

15:56 

“You look like shit,” Isak commented, sitting down on one of the swings.

Even just mumbled an assent in response.

“Why aren’t you here with Sonja?”

Even shrugged. Isak waited, but a few minutes passed, and Even still hadn’t said a word to him.

“Are you going to talk to me or did you just come all the way to Nissen and bring me to a playground to not talk to me?” Isak snapped, only regretting his tone a little when he saw Even flinch.

“Sorry, I just—I don’t know. Been feeling a little down.”

“Yeah, I know, you regret it.”

“Regret what?” Even sounded confused.

“You know.  _It._ Sex. With me.”

“You think I regret it?”

“Don’t you?”

“Isak. No.” And then, Even was in front of him, kneeling on the ground, forcing him to stop swinging.

“What, then? It was bad? Because it’s not always great the first time, you know. There’s, like, ways to fix that that doesn’t involve shutting me out and—”

Even’s lips were on his, soft and chaste. “Shut up. It was good. It was everything.”

Isak’s chest hurt, and he forced himself to pull back. “Then, what the fuck, Even?”

Even ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to ignore you or hurt you and I’m sorry I did. I am.”

Even looked a little like the light in his life had been doused with a flood of cold water. Isak poked at the corners of Even’s downturned mouth with his fingers, and Even met his gaze with a smile.

“Think there’s been a transference of power,” Isak muttered.

“What?”

“Your superpower? The one that cures me of grumpiness? I—never mind.”

Even laughed, leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I remember. I was just going to disagree with you.”

“Why?” Isak asked.

Even just laughed and walked away. He returned with a yellow dandelion, and Isak raised his eyebrows. Even raised his own in return before tucking the dandelion behind Isak’s ear, ignoring Isak’s groans and weak-willed protests.

“Because no one has the power to make another person happy if they’re not,” Even said quietly.

Isak frowned. “That’s cynical.”

Even smiled, but it didn’t seem genuine. “You look cute.” He brought out his disposable camera and Isak rolled his eyes and looked away as he snapped a picture. “The boy with the dandelion. Sounds like a good title, no?”

Isak scoffed. “You can have it. Dedicate a pretentious art show to me.”

“I will.”

* * *

  **September 12, 2013**

LØRDAG | 20:02 

v:  _mcdonald's in the rain_

Insistent knocks at the door followed by the ring of the doorbell startled Isak awake. He rubbed his eyes and sat up; he hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep. On a Saturday. At 8 p.m. God, he was lame. Maybe he needed to seriously consider lying about his age and get on a dating app.

“Coming,” he called out, the annoyance evident in his voice. “Fucking chill.”

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Even, standing in the rain, completely drenched.

“Dude, what the fuck? Why aren’t you wearing a jacket? Or carrying an umbrella?”

Even shrugged, laughing. “Your house is literally across the street from mine.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re immune from the rain.”

But Isak stood aside to let him in, inwardly relieved to see him. Things hadn’t been exponentially better after their afternoon in the playground. They texted sporadically, but Even was still distant and Sonja continued to superglue herself to Even's side. 

“Mamma thought I should bring you food,” Even said, dripping water on the floor.

Isak raised his eyebrows, then gestured toward Even's empty hands. “Yeah? And where’s the food? The rain steal it from you?”

“Fuck.”

“It’s chill. I’ll get you something else to wear.”

Isak returned with a towel and a change of clothes for Even, who was watching him intently.

“What are you doing here? I mean, since you didn’t bring me any food and Sonja’s at your place.”

Even looked at him questioningly, and Isak shrugged in response. “Saw her when I went to get the mail.”

“She left a few minutes ago. Anyway, just wanted to get away from her for a bit.” Even changed into the sweats and T-shirt Isak had given him and used the towel to dry his hair.

Isak couldn’t help it; he let out a disbelieving laugh. “She’s your girlfriend. You’re not supposed to want to get away from her.”

“I’m not supposed to want to fuck you when I have a girlfriend, either, but never heard you complain about that.”

Isak flushed. “That’s different.”

“Is it? Or is it the same, but worse?”

Isak opened his mouth, but then closed it. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say and honestly, arguing with Even, especially about Sonja, just made him feel tired.

“So, why are you here?” Isak finally asked. “To make me feel guilty about your choice to cheat on your girlfriend? Because that’s on you, not me.”

“What, you didn’t cheat on Sara?”

“Wha—I broke up with Sara, and that’s not—why are you trying to pick a fight with me?” Isak asked, frustrated.

“You broke up with Sara? When?”

“When you were busy ignoring me for two weeks.”

“I told you, I wasn’t—”

“I don’t care, Even.” Isak didn’t meet Even’s gaze.“You should leave.”

Even sighed. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. _I_ feel guilty. I took it out on you.”

“Yeah, you did. But I don’t want it to happen again, so I think you should go before you have any other reasons to feeling fucking guilty.”

Isak opened the front door and waited. But Even didn’t move. “Close the door. Please,” he added softly.

Isak sighed, but slammed the door shut and turned to face Even, who looked like he was struggling to find the right words.

“She’s—she’s kind of controlling,” Even said slowly. “Like, when I was down, she was telling me not to smoke or drink and forcing me to go to school and telling me that I needed to hang out with the boys more and it was exhausting. She was always home, always telling me what to do, telling me I was sleeping too much, and I just can’t handle more of it. I want—I want to tell her. About you.”

Isak felt his stomach drop, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what that was going to mean for him, for Even, for him and Even.

“What do you think about that?” Even muttered, moving closer to Isak.

“It’s not my decision.”

“But it involves you. Heavily. Are you ready for that?”

Isak didn’t know. Sonja was definitely going to be pissed. At both of them. She was generally a sweet person, but would she be pissed enough to out them both to everyone they knew? Isak feared the worst.

“Are you?” Isak glanced up, meeting Even’s gaze.

“I don’t care what happens. I’ve been ready for a while.”

Coming from Even’s lips, the prospect of not giving a shit sounded easy, like a dream.

“It’s OK if you’re not ready,” Even continued. “I won’t tell her it’s you.”

“What will you tell her?”

“That there’s this boy in my life who makes me feel like everything isn’t always shit. That he’s hot and funny and grumpy and a complete nerd who falls asleep at 8 p.m. on a Saturday. That I like him a lot.”

Isak swallowed. “What if she asks you, you know—for a label?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if she asks if you’re a homo now?” Isak asked carefully.

Even gave a surprised laugh. “I’m not.”

“No?”

“I mean, I suppose I am partly. I like you, I’m attracted to you. But same applies to Sonja. I’ve liked and been attracted to several people and I did some research and—and I’m pansexual. That’s what I’ll tell her if she asks.”

“Oh. Pansexual,” Isak repeated before nodding. Even sounded so confident and self-assured that Isak almost envied him. “Cool.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we kiss and make up then or are you still mad at me?”

“Still mad, but because you forgot to bring me food.”

“McDonald’s?”

Isak nodded and leaned in to kiss Even. Isak’s search for an umbrella proved to be fruitless, and upon Even’s insistence, they braved the rain on their way to McDonald’s. By the time they got there, Even was drenched all over again and so was Isak. They sat at a colorful yellow and red booth in the back, and Isak put a hand in front of his face when Even tried to take a picture. But Even kept snapping pictures and Isak deemed it a useless cause and finally, just grinned at the camera.

* * *

**October 6, 2013**

SØNDAG | 17:22 

vi: _the pines freeze_

“How do you feel?”

Isak shrugged, and Even continued stroking his hair.

“It’s good, isn’t it? That your mamma’s back?”

“Is it good that she doesn’t talk to me or shower or eat or do anything besides sleep all day?” Isak muttered. “Because if so, I think we both have very different definitions of good.”

Even was quiet for a few moments and Isak turned to press his lips against Even’s skin. At least things between them were the same definition of good. Sonja and Even had broken up, and there were times when Isak thought Even seemed almost as lethargic as his mamma, but Even always wrote off his concerns, said he was stressed about this exam or that.

“Does it make you sad?” Even asked, sitting up and leaning over Isak.

Isak shrugged again.

“True or false, Isak. Now you have to answer.”

Isak rolled his eyes, but sat up and pulled his jacket around himself a little tighter. The temperature was dropping quickly, and he half-wished they had just stayed in Even’s room instead of coming to the park. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just something that’s a part of my life and I have to deal with it.”

“True or false,” Even repeated.

Isak groaned. “True, I guess. I mean, I’m the kid. I’m not supposed to be worrying about my mamma all the damn time. At least not to the extent I do. I’m not supposed to be taking care of her and cleaning after her and fuck—stressing about how and when I’m supposed to pay the bills because pappa’s not around and mamma might as well not be.”

He was breathing hard by the time his tirade was done, and Even was hugging him tightly. They were in public, with people and tourists around them, but Isak didn’t care. He hugged Even back. When they broke apart, Isak lay back down again and looked up at the sky. This time around, when he heard Even snap a picture, he wasn’t fazed. But he was curious.

“Why do you keep taking pictures of me?”

“Because I like taking pictures of you.”

“What are you gonna do with it? Jerk off to it?” Isak asked teasingly.

Even smiled, but he looked sad again. Sadder than Isak remembered seeing him. “Or I’ll keep it. Create an entire art show with it.”

Isak raised his eyebrows. “No one would wanna see that.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Why would you create an entire art show with it?”

Even’s gaze was intense and he looked like someone had stomped all over his heart. But he smiled, and the words that came out of his mouth appeased Isak. “Because you’re everything.”

* * *

**October 31, 2013**

FREDAG | 19:50 

vii: _julius caesar_

Isak didn’t get the hint when he went over to Even’s house and his mother gave him a sympathetic look and told him Even wasn’t home. He didn’t get the hint when Even’s mother gave him the same look and the same response for an entire week. He didn’t even get the hint when Even ignored his calls and stopped answering his texts. He only got the hint when the girls (OK, Vilde) forced him to attend a party some ‘97er was hosting and he saw it happen.

He saw Even talking to Sonja. He saw Even laughing with Sonja. He saw Even kissing Sonja, like nothing, nothing at all, had ever changed between them.

Isak supposed he was a fool to think it ever had.

Isak was mostly over Even. At least, he was if ‘mostly over’ counted as retreating further back into the closet than he had ever been and pretending to be interested in some girl in his year named Mari. He wasn’t even sure how he ended up chatting with her, but he suspected it had something to do with Eva.

She was dressed as Catwoman, and objectively, Isak supposed he could see why dudes would lust after her. He just wasn’t ever going to be that dude. Worse, Mari seemed to misconstrue his lack of interest as a sign he was playing hard to get. He couldn’t fully process what was happening, but there were a pair of glossy lips on his and it was fine, but it was nowhere near ideal.

When Isak pulled back, his eyes met familiar blue ones and he felt himself sink into the floor. How just looking at Even could provoke such a reaction, while a hot girl’s lips on his just made him feeling inconvenienced and annoyed he didn’t know.

If they were still talking, if they were even on good terms, Isak might’ve made fun of Even’s costume. He was wearing a long, white wig with what seemed like a white sheet thrown over a T-shirt and jeans. What the fuck was he even supposed to be? A glance at Sonja, who was dressed up as an angel, told him Even was most likely god. Either that or a tame devil who had recently been doused in bleach.

Even was taking pictures of everyone at the party, and Isak felt the instant urge to make himself invisible. He left Mari’s side with the excuse of getting another drink, but the prospect of returning to the party, to Mari, and to Even and Sonja was the least appealing thing he could think of.

So, he went outside, half-wishing he had a cigarette or a joint. He didn’t. But a guy with chin-length brown hair did. He was wearing a gray T-shirt with a longer sleeved white one paired underneath along with red, plaid pajama pants and a gray headband.

“Are you supposed to be Saul? From the Pineapple Express?” Isak asked.

The guy looked over at him and grinned. “Thank fuck. Everyone else has been asking me what I was the whole night. Want a hit?”

Isak smiled and accepted the joint.

“I’m Mikael.”

“Isak.”

As far as Halloweens went, it wasn’t the best. But it wasn’t the worst, either.  

Isak learned he had never seen Mikael around at Nissen because he had recently moved from Stavanger to Oslo and was going to school at Bakka. He was a ‘97 and he had come to the party with a few friends.

The conversation was easy; Mikael was passionate and outspoken, but relaxed.

In the twenty minutes they spent sharing a joint and talking, Mikael had spent about ten minutes talking Isak’s ear off about Banksy and his "undoubtedly everlasting influence on political art and commentary." And honestly, Isak didn’t mind. Because Mikael didn’t seem to mind when he went off on a tangent about the Fermi Paradox and how the vastness of the universe made it so that meeting another civilization, a possible alien life, would be virtually impossible.

“—statistically, there is another civilization out there, but like, just how we don’t meet all the seven billion people on this planet, we’re never going to me—”

“Mikael.”

Even before Isak turned around, he felt the instinctive need to flee.

“Even, bro! Have you met Isak? He knew I was Saul,” Mikael said, wrapping an arm around Even.

Isak stayed silent. He probably knew they were thinking the same thing. That they had both first watched the Pineapple Express together, when they were high out of their minds and needed something to relate to on TV.

“Isak’s my neighbor,” Even said, looking a little awkward.

The words stung worse than any pain Isak could’ve imagined. Tears pricked his eyes and Isak quickly nodded and tried to give Mikael a genuine smile without actually meeting his gaze.

“Sorry, it was cool meeting you, but I gotta go, I promised I’d be home before it got too late,” he muttered.

As far as Halloweens went, it was pretty much the worst one he’d had so far.

* * *

**November 28, 2013**

TORSDAG | 20:48 

viii: _snow showers_

Winter had come late that year. But it had snowed in Oslo for the first time when he got the phone call.

Isak couldn’t process the words. He felt like he had lost the capacity to understand language as a whole. It seemed like Even’s mother had, too, because though it was her voice Isak heard first, it was Even’s father who completed the sentences.

Even was in the hospital. Attempted suicide. He was going to be OK, but he was going to be in and out of the hospital for a few days. Maybe even weeks. 

Isak didn’t stop to consider whether Even would even want to see him when he went to the hospital, his hands shaking. Scratch that, his entire body was trembling. He hadn’t dressed for the onset of winter and his body was punishing him for it. But he didn’t care. He needed to see Even. Needed to make sure he was actually OK.

He spotted a familiar blonde head and ran up to Sonja. “Where is he? Where’s Even?” he demanded.

“We can’t see him. Family only.”

“I need—I need to see him, Sonja, either tell me or get out of the fucking way.”

“Isak, you need to calm down and listen to me. We can’t see him right now. All right? There’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do about it. He’s awake, but only his parents are allowed in right now.”

Isak sighed, then sank down on the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. He felt Sonja sit next to him, but she didn’t make any attempt to comfort him, which was just as well. He doubted he would’ve taken too kindly to that. He had seen Even just a few days ago. Granted, he’d been with Sonja, so Isak had immediately glanced away to spare himself the addictive pain and self-loathing of heartbreak. Now, he couldn’t help but wish he’d looked a little longer, a little harder to see if there were any signs. Any fucking signs at all.

“What happened?” he finally asked.

Sonja looked at him in disbelief. “He didn’t tell you? Isak, he’s—he’s sick. He saw a doctor a few months ago because his mom and I thought he might be depressed.”

Fuck.

All those days Even had been withdrawn. Even had talked about how controlling Sonja was, how exhausting it was that she wanted him to meet his friends and not spend his days sleeping. Fuck. How the fuck had he not realized that? He should’ve recognized it.

“—but it’s not just depression.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“He was diagnosed with bipolar. He never took the meds the doctor prescribed him. Said he didn’t want to lose who he was or become numb. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you. But I suppose this explains things about you two.”

Isak furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her. “What things about us?”

“Even said there was someone else. When he broke up with me. I figured he was talking about you. You both had hickeys all the time, you were spending a lot of time together. But then, whatever it was was over and he was calling me up, saying he was sorry. I guess he was manic.”

It was with some effort that Isak managed not to scream at Sonja. “What the fuck? No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t manic the entire time. He couldn’t have been.”

“What did you think, then? That he loved you? Did he say that before or after he dumped you? Or do you think he said that while he was cheating on you with someone else?” There was a bitter edge to her words and Isak, as much as he didn’t want to, empathized with her anger and frustration. “Did you know he tried to kiss Mikael? How many other people do you think he was doing this with? He’s sick, Isak. He needs help.”

Isak suddenly just wanted Sonja to shut up. But as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not when there were tears streaming down his face and every word Sonja uttered had felt like someone was repeatedly throwing punches at his chest. Without saying anything, Isak stood up to leave, but bumped into someone else.

Mikael.

One look at his distressed face told Isak that Sonja hadn’t been lying.

**

23:01 

Isak didn’t go too far. When he returned, he was relieved to see only Even’s mother. On spotting him, Even’s mother stood up and enveloped him in a tight hug. 

“Thanks for coming, Isak, I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”

Isak wasn’t quite so sure about that, but he went into the room, anyway. He felt bile rise up in his throat at the sight of Even lying on the hospital bed in a blue gown, but he willed himself not to be an idiot and make this about himself. Machines beeped and there were entangled tubes everywhere, but Isak tried not to stare for too long. He wasn’t sure he was ready to know how Even had tried.

“I’m sorry.”

Isak’s cheeks were damp again. He could feel it. Even’s hand was extended toward him and he slowly moved closer.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, but I saw it was all I was doing.” His voice was hoarse, like he was either severely dehydrated or like he hadn’t use his voice in a few hours. “I saw how sad you were all the time. I saw how sad your mamma made you. I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t your fucking choice to make,” Isak said quietly, his voice shaking.

“I wanted you to be happy. I chose to make you happy. I didn’t want you to look after me and be sad and—”

“Look at me, Even, fucking look at me.” Isak’s voice broke. “Do I look happy right now? How could you think that there would be a single universe where I’d be happy if you weren’t in it? Why’d you do it?”

Even didn’t say anything.

“Why was I the only one who didn’t know you were bipolar? Why did Sonja know a whole month before you broke up with her? Why didn’t I?”

“You should leave,” Even said quietly.

“Fuck you, I’m not leaving. I don’t care if you talk or not. I’m staying.”

“You need to leave, Isak. Please.”

Even was starting to get agitated and his volume seemed to alert one of the nurses, who rushed inside.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

Isak barely heard the words, but he felt a pair of strong hands escorting him outside and closing the door behind him. Even didn’t even want to _see_ him. Maybe Sonja had been right. Maybe none of it had been real.

* * *

**December 24, 2013**

MANDAG | 21:21 

ix: _love like ghosts_   

> **Even Bech Næsheim**
> 
> Dear Isak,
> 
> It’s 21:21 now and I’m outside, thinking of you. I’m thinking about our first kiss, the first game of true or false we played, the movies we’ve seen together, the many, many little dates we’ve had—I’m thinking about all of it. Mamma and pappa think I need a fresh start since I’ll have to repeat my last year, so we’re moving to Bergen. I’m sorry about hurting you, I’m sorry for making you sad when what I wanted was the exact opposite. I hope you’ll find a way to be happy soon; you deserve it more than anyone I know. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for us and I’m sorry I’m the reason why. But in another universe, somewhere, someplace, we’re riding bikes and eating clementines and swimming in the river. In another universe, we’re together because I know that, in every universe imaginable, I’ve never felt how I feel about you with anyone else. Love you.

Isak didn’t know if there was even a word for what he was feeling in any language. All that registered was the fact that Even had written he was outside. Which maybe meant he hadn’t left for Bergen yet.

Without even grabbing his coat, dressed in just a T-shirt and sweatpants, Isak went outside. Maybe he was too late, but he needed to try. He crossed the street and there Even was, bundled up, his cheeks pink, loading suitcases in the trunk of the car. Just as Even turned to grab his backpack, he noticed Isak and stopped in his tracks.

They stood a few feet apart.

“What are you doing here?” Then, noticing Isak’s attire: “Fuck, you must be freezing.”

“Not really.” Isak wasn’t lying. He couldn’t feel anything. Just Even. Who was alive and healthy and in front of him.

Even took a few steps toward him just as Isak did the same. Isak didn’t know who initiated it, but they were hugging and Isak could barely breathe.

 _I’ll miss you,_ Isak wanted to say.

_I wish you weren’t leaving._

_I love you, too._

_Please don’t leave me._

_I’m so happy when I’m with you. I’ve always been happy. Even when we were having stupid fights, even when we weren’t talking to each other. Just seeing you for a minute, less than that even, brightened my days. I want you to stay._

But Isak didn’t say any of that. Instead, they both took a step back after a few seconds. Even’s mom hugged him goodbye when she saw him, and Even’s dad shook his hand before getting into the car. Isak and Even stood there in the cold, staring at each other for a long moment. Then, Isak lunged forward and hugged Even once more.

“Wait, one second,” Even muttered when they pulled back. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his camera. “Can I?”

It was was so ridiculous—Even was so ridiculous—that Isak felt laughter bubbling up in his throat. He was probably hysterical. From the cold, from Even, from his departure, all of it. But he just gave a small nod. Even raised his camera to his eyes and took his last picture of Isak.

Just as Even turned to get into the car, Isak broke his silence. “Are you going to do something remarkable with your life?” His voice didn’t sound steady to his own ears.

Even looked confused for a moment, but then something in his expression cleared. He had gotten the reference of the conversation they’d had mere moments before their first kiss. He smiled and for the first time in a while, Isak thought it reached his eyes. That he looked lighter. “I’m going to try.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooow, 7,000 words later, i can't believe this story's practically done 
> 
> i'll admit editing this has been a pain in the ass so if there are any embarrassing blunders that i haven't caught, please let me know 
> 
> as an aside, the scenes of isak "pictures" i've included are the most significant moments (also because i don't think i could've written 15-20 scenes) but i'll give just a little more insight into what the remaining few are in the next chapter 
> 
> the next chapter will pick up from the gallery meet-up scene and will most likely include an epilogue as well 
> 
> thanks to everyone who stuck with this fic and left really kind comments; it brightened my day and gave me the motivation to continue writing this fic!!! ❤


	10. city of roses

**October 20, 2018**

FREDAG | 03:58 

Isak hadn’t seen any of the pictures before, didn’t think Even would even hold on to those rolls of film that, for a while, had been preserved for him.

Every photo in the series is a picture of him, barring one. Isak recognizes the date.

_November 28, 2013._

Instead of a picture of him, it’s a combination of artfully assembled things. An old snapback that belonged to Isak. A blue Nike sweatshirt. A piece of paper with the words ‘true or false’ written on it. A clementine. A joint. A can of Tuborg. A wreath that resembled the one he’d worn on the Halloween he went as Caesar. A reindeer plush toy. A wilted dandelion. A bottle of pills. It’s all lying by a swing set on the snow. The first snowfall of 2013. The items are distinctly him, but it also encapsulates his relationship with Even. 

Isak’s throat feels tight, so he moves on to the next one. It’s called _love like ghosts._ He doesn’t remember the cold December air on his skin, but he remembers what it felt like to have his heart split open in two. The last picture Even took of him for five years.

The others are snippets from the many fleeting moments they’d had as teenagers. There’s one of Isak with a joint pressed to his lips. There’s another of him at a blacklight pregame with two neon pink stripes that Eva had painted across his cheeks. There he is biking past rowan trees. There’s a shot of his back at the Nasjonalgalleriet, in that blue Nike sweatshirt and gray jeans, standing in front of Harald Sohlberg’s _Vinternatt i Rondane,_  and the unintentional color coordination of his clothes and the painting is striking.

Then, finally, there’s the portrait of _the boy who couldn’t hold his breath underwater._ Isak knows it’s a shot of him taken just seconds after he’d emerged from the water. His eyes are closed and the horizon is a medley of blue, pink, and orange, and even he thinks it’s rather breathtaking.

“So. What do you think?”

Even sounds cautious, but Isak can barely breathe. The entire installation is like a graphic love letter to him.

“Why?”

Even shrugs. “I told you I would.”

Isak finally looks at him. Gapes. “That was five fucking years ago. I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“Well, I was.” Even shrugs.

“But why? Why now?”

Even gives him a wry smile. “I sort of had to do my time undertaking projects I didn’t really like to make a name for myself before I could do something like this. Something I really wanted to do.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know.”

Even doesn’t say anything else, and Isak resigns himself to the fact that he’s not going to. “You wanna go to KB?” he finally asks.

“It’s 4 in the morning. It’s closed.”

Even smiles, retrieves a key out of his pocket and dangles it in front of Isak’s face. “Not for me. I’m opening the shop today.”

**

4:16 

“Usual?” Even asks.

Isak nods even though he’s outgrown his mochas. His own impatience with waiting in line behind people ordering frilly frappuccinos and espresso drinks ten minutes before class had forced him to switch to black or iced coffees. To his surprise, the coffee Even brings out is black and sweetened with a bit of simple syrup.

“This isn’t what I drank in—” Isak aborts the words; it already sounds stupid, but Even just smiles.

“I just figured you’d need something stronger since I’ve kept you up this long and you have to be in class in a few hours. I can make you a mocha if you prefer that, though.”

Isak shakes his head, and they drink their coffee for a few minutes. It’s calming, but it’s also gnawing underneath his skin, all the unanswered questions.

“True or false?” Even asks quietly, breaking the silence first.

Isak hesitates. “No.”

“No?”

“Questions.”

Even raises his eyebrows. “So, I ask a question, you ask me a question?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t know the rules of the game changed in the last five years. Was there an article about it in the papers?”

Isak rolls his eyes, but feels the corners of his mouth lift. “I ask, you answer.”

“Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Creator of the game maintains absolute power over the rules of the game, so doesn’t matter.” Isak shrugs and tries not to be charmed by Even’s exaggerated eye-roll. Which, really isn’t even an eye-roll, just a facsimile of one. It’s strangely endearing. “When did you come back to Oslo?”

“After I finished school in Bergen. I knew I wanted to study in UiO and I got in, so here we are.”

“Did you know I was still here? In Oslo?”

“I thought you might be.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Something in Even’s expression changes; he looks guarded. “I tried.”

“What do you mean you tried? You didn’t try. My number’s the same. And you clearly still had it, so—”

“I mean, I tried by going over to where you lived. Obviously, not the greatest idea I’ve ever had, it was more out of impulse than anything, but I did—I wanted to see you. That’s how I found out your mamma didn’t live there anymore. Where is she now? How is she?”

Isak shakes his head. “I’m asking the questions.” But then, because Even looks so damn concerned, he sighs and adds, “She’s fine. Better. I try to visit her every week. She’s living with a friend she met in the psychiatric ward. Pappa’s remarried. Doing good, too.”

“I’m glad.” And Even sounds sincerely glad.

“So, you tried. Once.”

Even’s silent for a few moments as he sips his coffee. “I remember what you said. I heard what you said. About how it wasn’t my choice to make. And I was better—am better—but not every day is like that. Some days are worse than others and—”

“You don’t think I know that?” Isak interrupts with a small, humorless laugh. “You know better than anyone that I know that. Look, I get where you were coming from. I didn’t at the time, not when I was 14, or even 15 or 16, but I get it. I was going through shit with my mamma and you thought you’d be making me go through that, but you can’t—fucking use that as an excuse anymore. Or ever again. I'm not still 14.”

Even looks somber when he nods. “I know that.”

“But you—hell, you’ve reconnected with Mikael, the boys, even Sonja, and not—” Isak doesn’t want to say _me_ , doesn’t want to sound half as pathetic as he feels.

“Sonja was a coincidence; I didn’t seek her out,” Even says weakly, but Isak avoids his gaze, clutches his cup of coffee a little too hard. Even sighs when Isak doesn’t respond. “You want to know why I didn’t just find you and fix things like I did with Mikael and the boys? Or Sonja?”

“I think I asked you that and you’ve been skirting around the answer, so yeah,” Isak grumbles.

“Because you’re the most important one. Because I didn’t think I could fix things. And I’m not using this as an excuse, but because I knew you had probably moved on and I didn’t want to hurt you again by being back and uprooting your life. I didn’t know I would see you at my art show; I had no idea. I’ll admit I tried to see you when I told your friend I didn’t want to be interviewed. I figured he might tell you to reach out to me to see if I would change my mind. And you did. But clearly, seeing me again had hurt you, so I stayed away again. Until that night I ran into you outside the bar. And then, well, here we are.”

Isak raises his eyebrows when Even gets to the end of his explanation. “Here we are? Think you missed a big chunk between the bar and now.”

Even ducks his head a little, and Isak knows he’s not imagining Even blushing. “I really did need another portrait, but I also wanted it to be you,” he admits.

“And the series?” Isak presses.

Even’s silent again, and the way he pauses, takes his time to gather his thoughts so that nothing that comes out of his mouth is a garbled mess—or worse, something spiteful—reminds Isak he hasn’t changed. Not really. “I wanted you to know.”

 _Know what?_ Isak wants to ask, but Even’s looking at him like he’s willing him to understand, and Isak thinks he does.

Even wanted him to know that he missed Isak, that he had thought about him as much as Isak had thought about Even, that every moment Even had captured with his camera and put on display and even the ones that hadn’t made it into the series had meant more to him than 14-year-old Isak could’ve even begun to imagine.

“My turn,” Even says after a few minutes. “Do you think I did it?”

“Hmm? Did what? You know that sentence makes you sound like you’ve been accused of a crime, right?”

Even rolls his eyes and his leg is suddenly hooked around Isak’s ankle. “Something remarkable.”

Isak feels his face grow warm, but he nods. “Yeah.”

“Even though at that first gallery showing, you said—”

“Oh, my god, you have to let that go,” Isak groans, burying his head in his hands.

Even laughs and Isak raises his head and looks at him. There’s something like hope blooming in his chest. Whether it’s dangerous and misplaced or not, he isn't entirely sure. He figures he’ll find out sooner or later.

* * *

 

**NÅ**

**December 3, 2018**

LØRDAG | 01:32 

“Isak?” Even nudges him a little.

He doesn’t mean to say it. Tries his hardest to put a leash on his words.

“I love you.”

The first and only time Isak Valtersen says those three words, it’s to Even Bech Næsheim, a boy who broke his heart once and now, here Isak is, giving him every liberty to do it again because he's so drunk and so in love. 

**

12:04 

Isak wakes up in his own bed, but he’s vaguely aware of the sounds of a camera clicking away.

“Isn’t there a law that protects me from being photographed by my boyfriend when I’m hungover as fuck?” Isak groans, shielding his face from view.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Go photograph Magnus. He really wants you to.”

“Do you?”

Isak opens his eyes and scowls at Even. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m outright saying you get jealous.”

“Piss off, I do not.”

“Mm, right.”

“I don’t,” Isak insists. “It’s built into my DNA, you know, this inability to be jealous. The doctors were very alarmed when I was born.”

“They were probably alarmed because they couldn’t believe any one person could be this full of shit.” Even laughs and kisses him before the pointless argument can escalate.

He thinks it’s something of a blessing to wake up tangled around Even again, without the weight of girlfriends or secrets or anything else sitting on their chests, just bantering, kissing, touching, talking their hours away. He touches the nape of Even’s neck and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Anyway, I need these pictures for a new series I’m working on,” Even mutters against his mouth, pulling away a little.

“Which one?”

“It’s called ‘the boy who can’t hold his liquor.’”

“Not as pretentious as ‘the boy who couldn’t hold his breath underwater.’ Wouldn’t sell.”

“No? You don’t think?”

Isak shakes his head. “Critics would hate it.”

Even hums in response. “What do you think the critics would have to say about ‘the boy I’m ridiculously in love with can’t hold his liquor’?”

Isak’s head is pounding and his stomach yearns for the greasiest, sauciest kebab, but his heart still flutters. “Too long.”

“What would you call it?”

Isak puts his arm around Even and thinks for a few moments. “‘The boy you’re ridiculously in love with is ridiculously in love with you, too.’”

Even’s answering grin could probably shift the entire paradigm of the universe. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“‘The boy you’re ridiculously in love with is ridiculously in love with you, too,’” Even repeats. “And you don’t think _that’s_ too long?"

“Jesus fuck, shut up.”

Isak kisses him to achieve that exact effect, but he knows it’s not going to be the end of this argument or the many others to come. It’s a consoling thought.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's a wrap 
> 
> i know this is a much shorter chapter than the more recent ones but i didn't have too much left to add to this fic :( 
> 
> thanks again to everyone who's been reading and following this fic and for leaving incredibly sweet comments, especially on my previous chapter! 
> 
> i'm also torn between an idea of an evak it's kind of a funny story au for my next fic or one loosely based on the movie candy jar (or who knows, something else entirely) but please let me know if one sounds more interesting than the other! i mean i wanna write both if i can eventually, but it'd help me decide which to write first ❤


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